


Reckoning

by pyjamarama



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Blood and Violence, Crowley is fucking pissed, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tender Sex, Torture, Will add more tags if I think of any I missed, sweet sweet vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-09-06 18:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20296099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyjamarama/pseuds/pyjamarama
Summary: They were expecting some sort of retribution from either side. Crowley had said it first. They were going to be getting ready for the Big One. They knew they didn’t have much time before one of the sides did something, related to the Big One or not. What they didn’t realise was that it was going to take either side seven years to actually do anything.((Please see archive warnings and tags prior to reading as there is going to be a lot of triggering content here. Thank you!))





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the darkest thing I have written in a very long time.  
Please, if you are triggered easily by torture, rape/non-con, blood, or violence, please turn back now.  
If not, then come on in and get ready for some heartbreak!

They were _expecting_ some sort of retribution from either side. Crowley had said it first. They were going to be getting ready for the Big One. Heaven and Hell versus all of _them_. Humanity. They knew they didn’t have much time before one of the sides did _something_, related to the Big One or not. What they didn’t realise was that it was going to take either side seven years to actually _do_ anything. Seven years, in human terms, seems like quite a long while. But to the Heavenly and Hellish forces, it’s merely the blink of an eye.

They lived the first year in a sort of blind panic, cowering and trying to stay out of sight and off anyone’s radar. They had both agreed that it was best to not use any miracles for the time being. It was, needless to say, not a very enjoyable year in the slightest. The second year was less hectic, but they were still very wary. Wary enough to ask Anathema to spread protective runes throughout their respective living spaces.

By the third year, they realised that this might take a while and the Angel and Demon resumed going out to dinner again and using minor miracles. The fourth year was relatively peaceful, as peaceful as life on Earth could be in any case.

The fifth was calm and uneventful. And the sixth consisted of a seaside rendezvous that both had been putting off for a while. That was also the year that Aziraphale noticed that Crowley had started to migrate some of his plants and personal items—namely a toothbrush, comb, and collection of spare sunglasses—to his bookshop and upstairs flat. It was also the year that Crowley noticed a bookshelf appear in his living room along with a slew of different teas and cocoas in his kitchen cabinets. Neither one said anything about it. Until the back half of the seventh year, that is, while they were taking a stroll around the park.

“I seem to have a small forest in my backroom now, you know.” Aziraphale commented tersely, tossing a bit of crust to a duck.

“Yes. And I now have a library in my living room. What of it?”

“You _could’ve_ asked.”

“So could _you_.” The Demon sneered and glared at the duck until it squawked and waddled off.

“I _did_ ask!” The Angel pursed his lips, hands firmly clasped behind his back.

“Nooo, I would’ve remembered something like that and promptly told you ‘no’!”

“No, no, dear boy. We were sitting in my backroom and you were lying on the sofa fiddling with your mobile phone. I asked you and you said ‘yes’!”

“Oh, that doesn’t count! I was on my phone!” Crowley groaned as they rounded the bend, heading back towards the direction of the Bentley. “And you _know_ you like the plants! They bring colour that’s not _brown_ to your shop. You’re books just take up space in my flat!”

“They do _no_ such thing!” Aziraphale gasped, placing a hand to his chest, clearly offended that his books could ever ‘take up space’. “I left some of my _absolute_ favourites on that bookshelf! _All_ of My Oscar Wilde, for starters!”

“You and your _bloody_ Oscar _fucking_ Wilde!” Crowley growled, but then suddenly stopped in his tracks. Aziraphale, a few paces ahead, stopped as well and turned about, cocking his head in concern.

“Crowley?”

“Shhh!” The Demon hushed him aggressively and looked around, listening intently to something that it seemed only he could hear. “Something is happening...”

“What? What kind of ‘_something_’?” Frowning, a look of worry creased the Angel’s face and he grabbed hold of Crowley’s arm.

“Hell is up to something.” He bared his teeth and sniffed the air again before tightening his arm around Aziraphale’s and dragging him the rest of the way to the car. “Is your shop still protected in those runes from the Witch?”

“Her name is _Anathema_, dear. And yes.” The Angel let out a protest as he was forcefully shoved into the car and they drove off down the street with a screeching of tyres. “I thought she did the same to your flat.”

“Ah, uh...” Crowley made a series of nonsensical noises and shrugged a little, making a point to _not_ look at the blond as he drove. “...I may have destroyed them. A bit.”

“You _what_?” Az replied incredulously, ready to deliver a smack but thought better and settled with just balling his fists up and flaring his nostrils.

“I...I-I got really drunk one night. Forgot to sober up. When I woke up, they were all...sort of…burnt.”

“You...you _idiot_! Complete and _utter _ignoramus!” Aziraphale sighed a very long, exhausted sigh and ran a hand down his face. “Of course...you can stay at mine. But I think you were going to do that _anyways_, with or without my permission.”

“You are correct.” Crowley gave a grin and skidded the Bentley into its usual spot outside the bookshop. The Demon whipped his head around, wary eyes scanning every little thing he could see, before they got out of the car and hurried inside. As soon as Aziraphale locked the door, a rune lit up on the wood, glowing a faint blue before fading away again; with a snap, all the shades were drawn.

“Now then.” Aziraphale began, heading to the backroom to sit down. “Tell me, dear. What is it exactly you were sensing?”

“Hell is doing something. I could _feel_ it. I could _smell_ it.” He threw himself onto the sofa and was admonished by a pointed stare from Aziraphale. “I don’t know what, but I know it’s not anything...well..._good_.”

“Well, _obviously_. It’s Hell.” Az replied and Crowley mouthed the words mockingly before sitting up and staring at the blond, sunglasses on the table now.

“We need to lay low for a while.”

“Then it’s a good thing that I’ve just stocked the kitchen earlier today.” He stood with a smile and called over his shoulder. “Would you like some tea, dear?”

“Tea. Tea?” Crowley stood and marched after him. “_Tea_?!”

“Yes, tea. I’m making some.”

“No, I don’t want any bloody _tea_, Aziraphale!” The Demon caught him by the arm just as he got to the kitchen door and twirled him around. He was met by large, wet green-hazel eyes. The rest of his face was held in a poor attempt at calm. If it wasn’t for the clenched jaw and slight tremor to his hands, it might have been believable. Crowley’s anger faded rather quickly. “...Shit...”

“I fear we may have gotten a little too comfortable these last few years.” The Angel’s voice came out in a quiver. “I knew...I knew they would be back. And yet, I let myself get too...settled. I thought...uhm, I thought that we could just be left alone. Just us. For once, I thought we could be happy and free. Instead, it looks like we’ll have to run and hide again. Like a dog with its tail between its legs.” He sighed and pulled himself gently from Crowley’s grasp, heading fully into the kitchen and starting the kettle. After a moment, he seemed to pull himself together and he stood up straight, squaring his shoulders; he wiped the tears from his cheeks. “But I’ll be _damned_ should they try to do anything to you! I won’t let them!”

“We could...we could still go off together.” Crowley shrugged, leaning on the doorframe, watching the blond pour the kettle into two mugs. He didn’t know what else to do. He had been at the mercy of the Angel’s tears a few times before, and each time it confounded him. Usually he would just shove his hands in his pockets and make some stupid quip that would either earn him a swat or a blessed little chuckle from Aziraphale. He had no witty remarks today. “Alpha Centauri still exists. They’d never find us there.”

“Oh, well, you know that’s not true.” Aziraphale handed him a red mug, keeping the white winged one for himself. “They’d find us eventually. But thank you for trying to cheer me up. Maybe one day when this is over for good, I may take you up on that offer. I believe we are due for another holiday, you and I.”

“You would?” Crowley raised his eyebrows up. “Last time I asked you that you yelled at me and told me we weren’t friends.”

“Oh, you know _that’s_ not true either.” Aziraphale harrumphed, making his way back to the backroom. “And yes. I would. Life without you would be _dreadfully _dull.”

“Ah, uh...wha—” Crowley’s jaw clenched, and a heat rose up from his neck and to his cheeks and ears. He barked out a nervous laugh and covered his face with one hand. “How can you say something like that with a straight face...”

“Say what, dear boy?” The Angel had settled back into his chair while Crowley crossed the room to the alcohol cabinet and poured a more-than-necessary amount of whiskey into his tea; he flopped himself back to the sofa much to the dismay of Az. “And stop doing that. That sofa is nearly a hundred years old.”

“No wonder it’s so uncomfortable.” Crowley grumbled, choosing to ignore Aziraphale’s question. He stared up at the ceiling, running his eyes across the string of runes along the edges. He gestured towards them vaguely. “You sure that those are gonna hold up?”

“I trust Anathema. She knows what she’s doing.”

“Against the, very possible, full wrath of Hell?”

“Ah, well...I-I should _hope _so.”

“We’re gonna need a bit more than ‘hope’, Angel.” A heavy silence fell over them for a long while until Aziraphale set his mug down on the desk. Crowley regarded him with subdued interest from the corner of his eye.

“If I remember correctly, we _were_ supposed to have dinner today.” Az gave him a little smile and stood. “Will you be a dear and assist me in preparing something for us?”

“...Oh, right.” Crowley hesitated, then thought it as good a distraction as any, and stood as well. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want, Angel.”

He could _never_ say no to Aziraphale.

And it _was_ a good distraction. Bustling around the kitchen, cooking things along-side one another the human way. Crowley found he was not very good at it, but that was ok. Aziraphale was there to smile and fix any mistakes. Because _of course_, the Angel knew how to cook. The hedonist that he was. And just this once, Crowley indulged and actually ate. Maybe it was because they had made it together with their own hands or maybe it was because he was just a bit stressed out, but he thought it was possibly the most delicious thing he had ever eaten. He didn’t say so out loud, but Aziraphale smiled broadly at the faces Crowley made whilst eating.

After dinner, they decided it was probably the best course of action to _not_ sleep. If Hell _was _indeed up to something, they needed to be awake and alert. Crowley didn’t last long. After a few millennia of sleeping, he had grown accustom to it, and promptly dozed off on the sofa. Aziraphale, who never slept once in his life—not counting, of course, the time he was rendered unconscious while masquerading as Crowley—chuckled and draped a blanket over the Demon’s snoring visage.

He watched him for a bit and smiled when he curled up further, pulling the duvet up over his nose. He looked so peaceful. So at ease. So..._beautiful_. Aziraphale flushed as the thought came to him and tentatively brushed a stray bit of red hair from his face. When the Demon didn’t react, he leaned down, gently kissing his forehead with the ghost of a touch. Crowley hummed appreciatively in his sleep. Aziraphale had backed up quickly, returning to his chair with a book.


	2. Chapter 2

He was falling. But not the burning damnation kind of falling he had already experienced. He was _literally _falling. Free falling through a deep, dark void. When his wings refused to materialise, he frantically reached out to find something to grasp. To somehow halt his descent into the abyss. But found nothing. He panicked, shouting a familiar name as the cold wind whipped past his ears, biting into his skin. He was vaguely aware of someone calling him. But they sounded so far away. He shouted again and cried. He was suddenly thrust from the darkness and into blood and flames. The fires didn’t burn him, but he could hear someone screaming. It sounded like the same voice who had been calling to him, but it was pained and frantic and sobbing his name now.

“Crowley!” The voice called again, closer this time and a bright golden light opened up below him, guiding him out of the dark and the flames. He cried and reached for it and— He shot up from his place on the sofa, nearly falling off in the process. He was panting, cold sweat covering his brow. His fully serpentine eyes darted around wildly until they finally landed on the source of the light. Aziraphale wore an extremely worried expression and had a hand on Crowley’s shoulder.

“...Angel?” His voice came out gravelly and strained. He rubbed a hand across his face and found it to be wet. Tears or perspiration? He didn’t know. Maybe both.

“You were shouting in your sleep, dear. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Nnn...” He grumbled and rubbed at his eyes until they returned to normal. “Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright.” Aziraphale sat next to him on the sofa. “Would you like to talk about it? It sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

“I was…falling. Not like that.” He amended when Aziraphale gave him a sad, troubled look. “_Actually_ falling…someone was screaming.”

“That was _you_.”

“No. In my dream. Someone was screaming for me. They sounded like they were hurt.”

“It was just a dream, dear.” Az produced a kerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from Crowley’s face gently. When he spoke next, his voice was low and tender. “…You were calling my name.”

“…Was I?” Crowley kept his gaze down, away from the Angel; his ears betrayed him and flushed. “Sorry.”

“Must have been a terrifying dream for you to call out to _me_.” Aziraphale chuckled lightly, still patting the sweat from Crowley’s forehead and neck with gentle touches. He paused his motions, letting his hand rest on the Demon’s cheek while he looked upon him with an affectionate gaze. When Crowley leaned into the touch, he smiled. “Crowley, dear. I…”

“Ah, uh…” The red-head, realising what he was doing stared his golden eyes up at the blond, searching his face. He was smiling softly, the faintest colour to his cheeks. “Angel…can I…”

“Yes?”

“I want to…”

“What is it, dear?”

“I…I…sod it!” He grabbed hold of Aziraphale’s lapels and pulled him down, pressing their lips together. Aziraphale made a shocked ‘mmm!’ into his mouth before melting in his arms. Crowley’s hands explored, going around the Angel’s middle, over his hips, up his back, into his soft blond curls. They both pulled back, panting, faces red and eyes half-lidded.

“Well.” Aziraphale broke the silence, speaking through a nearly strained breath. “It’s about time.”

“I’ll say.” Crowley gave him a crooked smile. “’Bout six thousand years late. Sorry. I’m not good with these kinds of…_things_.”

“Oh, well…neither am _I_, dear.” Aziraphale cleared his throat and stood, looking a bit demure now as he straightened his waistcoat. “I uh…I came in here to tell you that I made us some lunch, if you’re hungry. But um…I’m quite alright with _not_ eating. Just this once.”

“Yeah?” Crowley’s eyebrows shot up and Aziraphale nodded bashfully, hands clasped in front of himself while he fiddled with his signet ring. The Demon grinned widely and pulled the Angel back down into his lap, arms wrapping around his waist again. Aziraphale stared down at the Demon and brought trembling hands up to rest on his angled face. Crowley reached up and took the hands in his own, grazing his lips over the knuckles. “It’s alright. We…we won’t do anything you don’t want to do. I swear. I won’t…go too fast for you.”

“Oh, Crowley, my dear.” Aziraphale let out a somewhat relieved sigh and shifted a bit in the Demon’s lap. “I care very deeply for you but…I am not sure I am _quite_ ready for uh…f-for…”

“Sex.”

“Ah, yes. _That_.” He focused his green-hazel eyes on their hands. “I realise that uhm…I’ve had _certain_ feeling for you for a long time but…well…I mean I just…I’m not _sure_ if…I don’t really know _how_ to…”

“Angel. Angel, it’s alright.” It was Crowley’s turn to put a hand to Az’s cheek, successfully calming him down a little with the touch. “I told you. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do. I won’t force you. I’ve _never_ forced you to do anything, have I?”

“N-no.” Aziraphale’s face reddened again and he leaned down to tentatively place a kiss to Crowley’s lips. “Could we…uh…keep doing _this_?”

“Anything for you, Angel.” Crowley grinned into the next kiss, putting his arms back in their rightful place around Aziraphale’s waist. They slumped back onto the sofa together, connected at the mouth and hands roaming and exploring every possible place that the Angel was comfortable with. Which was _almost_ everywhere. Lunch was forgotten on the counter in the kitchen.

When Crowley awoke next it was bright outside with the early morning sun. Last he checked, he was making out with his Angel on the sofa in the backroom and it was just a little past one o’ clock in the afternoon. Had they _really_ been together that long that an entire night passed? Yawning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. Aziraphale wasn’t there with him and he assumed that he had gotten up to eat or make cocoa like usual. Crowley grinned to himself, running a hand along his red and swollen lips. They really _had_ been kissing all night. His gaze travelled to his glasses sitting on the coffee table. There was a note slipped under them. He furrowed his brows and unfolded it.

_\- “Crowley,_

_ I’ve left to go to your flat and pick up some things for us. Mainly clothing for you and some of my books that I am beginning to miss dreadfully. Please, do not worry about me! It is Hell, not Heaven that is planning something. So, if anyone is in any danger, it is **you**, dear. As you very well know, Heaven and Hell take care of their own, respectively._

_I shall return post-haste!_

_Yours Truly,_

_ Aziraphale.” -_

“W-what? No!” Quick to his feet, the Demon took a few very long strides towards the front door, changed his mind, and stalked back into the backroom. “It’s too dangerous! Hell doesn’t play by any _guidelines_, Aziraphale! They are ruthless and _will_ take things into their own hands, and often have done just that! You can’t trust them to follow those rules! Y-you…you _stupid_ Angel!!” Crowley roared and grabbed the table by the sofa, throwing it and effectively scattering the things that were lying atop. It hit a bookshelf, threatening to tip it over, and clattered to the floor with a broken leg. “Fucking _twit_!”

There was a moment, after the broken table, where Crowley stood at the front door, hand poised over the knob, as he seriously contemplated running after the Angel. Hell does _not_ care. Hell _would_ take him. Hell would do _horrible_ things to him. Hell would _not_ consult Heaven. But Hell would also do those same things to _him_. Or worse even. They would _torture_ Aziraphale, yes, but they would _kill_ Crowley. Not just discorporate, but really, truly end him.

But he _cared_ about Aziraphale. And if that stupid Angel was captured and tortured because he didn’t act, he would not be able to live with himself. Afterall, to him, a world without Aziraphale was not a world he was interested in living in. He yelled—partially to psych himself up and partially because of the anger—and flung the door open. He hurried to the car and focused all his energy on sensing Aziraphale’s whereabouts.

* * *

Crowley’s flat was silent as Aziraphale worked quickly to gather the Demon’s things. Mainly clothes and sunglasses and a few of the smaller plants he knew the Demon played favourites with. He shoved everything into a hold-all and sent a minor miracle to the rest of the vegetation to keep them vibrant. As he went to leave again, he remembered something and went to the kitchen, grabbing some wine and special cocoa he had left there. He made for the door again, grabbing a few books from the shelf on his way. Then there was a rumble.

“Crowley?” He wheeled around towards the door as it flung open and the flat was sent into complete darkness. The hold-all fell to the floor and white wings shot out from the dark into a battle position. Their owner shouted at his attackers, landing blows whenever and wherever he could. The wings, realising he wasn’t doing too well, enveloped him in some sort of protection. A cry of pain rang out through the flat as dark tendrils wrapped themselves around the feathers, pulling the Angel down to his knees. And then they were gone. The light returned to the flat and all that was left behind was the bag and a little plant with a broken pot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The dark stuff starts here and only gets worse as the story progresses.

Crowley was too late. He stood in the broken front door to his flat and stared in. The sulphur scent gave it away. Demons had been here. And the abandoned bag and broken plant said that Aziraphale had been there too. His corporation’s heart sank. Everything suddenly sounded like it was under water, and his blood went cold in his veins; hard to do as he was already cold-blooded. Hell had taken Aziraphale. And it was his fault.

\- _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid **fucking** Demon! You’re so **fucking** stupid! Shouldn’t have slept! Should’ve **made** him stay! Hell is going to torture him and it’s all your **fucking** fault!!-_

The Demon let out a thunderous, guttural scream the force of which knocked the bookshelf over and shifted the other furniture in the living room. His wings manifested on their own, spreading out wide as he stalked into his flat to where the sulphur smell was strongest. Right next to the hold-all. But the Angel’s scent was there too. Weak, but there. He scrunched up his face and drew in a deep breath, willing himself to calm. It didn’t work very well, and he settled on at least _not_ screaming. He tore off his glasses, eyes fully yellow and ablaze with a rage he had not known in a very, very long time.

-_Gotta find him. Gotta find Aziraphale. In Hell. He’s in Hell. Gotta get to him before…before they…-_

He couldn’t finish the thought. It was making him want to scream again. An image of darkness and flame and falling came to him. He growled lowly, like a wild animal, and tried to port himself to Hell. When he found that he couldn’t, he shouted again anyways. They had sealed him off. But maybe. Just _maybe_— He ran from the flat and got back into the Bentley, speeding down the street at a breakneck speed that was foreign even to him.

* * *

Aziraphale awoke in a dark and damp place. And he knew, just by the feeling in his chest, that he was somewhere in Hell. The air was heavy and oppressive; it felt like it was slowly sapping all his hope and happiness. Groaning, he sat up from his place on the dank floor and quickly realised he could not stand all the way by means of dark chains around his wrists and neck, anchoring him to the ground. He managed to shift onto his knees, still bent over enough to be uncomfortable. He focused his energy on the chains. They glowed in a dim golden light for a moment before…nothing. His Angelic powers weren’t working.

“No use in doing that, princess.” Someone sneered from somewhere in the darkness of the room. “Demonic chains to hold you. Your Heavenly powerzz won’t work on those.”

“Show yourself, foul fiend!” Aziraphale mustered enough of his courage to shout into the murk. The voice laughed menacingly, a tinge of amusement coming through.

“You’re funny.” The Demon—as Aziraphale had assumed it was a Demon—appeared from the shadows. Beelzebub stood, hands behind their back and a snide smirk on their face.

“Beelzebub?” Aziraphale stared up at them through furrowed brows. “Let me go this instant!!”

“You really are funny.” They barked out a laugh and took only a few steps closer. “No. I think we’ll keep you here for a bit.”

“Crowley _will_ find me!”

“We certainly hope so.” They smirked threateningly and turned on their heel, heading for a barred cell door. “I think I’ll leave you in the care of Dagon and their chargezz.”

“W-who’s Dagon?” Aziraphale regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. The name sounded familiar, but he just couldn’t place it. Beelzebub left the room and was replaced by a different Demon, one with sharp teeth and shining silver scales on their face.

“Lord of the files, Master of—”

“…Torments.” Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he remembered the birthday party and misplaced hell hound. Dagon produced a black cat o’ nine tails from their back pocket. With a kick to the door to close it, they stalked towards the Angel, quickly closing the gap. “…_Please_.”

“Aw, he goes straight to begging?” They mock pouted. “That’s no fun. I thought you’d have a _bit_ of fight to you at least.”

“I’m not begging for _me_.” Aziraphale set his jaw and turned his wide gaze up to meet the Demon’s. They took a very small step back at the pure rage that was burning in the Angel’s eyes. “I was begging for _you_.”

“You can’t do _shit_ here, fucking prat.” They swung the tails and it made contact with Aziraphale’s cheek. He let out a sharp cry of pain and he tipped over onto his side. After a moment, he turned his now bleeding face back up towards the Demon before him, baring his teeth in a grin.

“Oh no, it’s not _me_ you have to worry about, dear fellow.” The fire burned in his eyes, pure unadulterated fury. “Do what you will to me. But know _this_. He _is_ coming. He _will_ find me. And there is _nothing_ you will be able to do that can stop him. Because, as much as you all put him off, he has a rage in him that cannot be quelled once it starts. Trust me when I say this…you will _regret_ ever taking me.”

Dagon paused for a moment, regarding the Angel before them and the words spoken through teeth covered in golden blood. Aziraphale thought for a moment that his words had won, or at the very least, bought some time. He was wrong. The Demon shrugged and spoke again, tone as if they were bored.

“…I think it’s time to shut that pretty mouth of yours.” Dagon sneered and brought the tails down again across his face, sending him back to the floor. Aziraphale cried out again, but laughed, spitting blood onto the stone.

“You Demons really are very dense, you know.” He wiped his mouth on the back of one of his hands the best he could, shifting back to his knees again.

“I told you to shut up, _Angel_!” Aziraphale cringed a little. He _hated_ the way that sounded coming from another Demon’s mouth. ‘Angel’, when Crowley said it, always sounded more like a term of endearment. But here…it was clearly an insult. The thought was knocked away by a blow from a fist to his temple. He fell to the ground with such a force that his forehead hit the cold stone below, bleeding from a gash. He shook and tried to sit back up, fighting the dizziness overtaking his mind. “We _will_ break you. You _will_ submit. I _will_ have you cowering at the very _sound_ of our footsteps.”

Another blow with something harder than a fist—though he couldn’t see what it was—sent him back down immediately. They struck him again, and again, and again. Hitting his head, his shoulders, his back, his arms. Anywhere they could reach. He curled up in a ball in some sort of way to protect himself. A hard kick to the ribs sent the air from his lungs, and although he didn’t really _need_ to breathe, he struggled to catch his breath. His vision began to narrow.

“…C-Crow—” A strangled sort of whisper escaped his now cracked and bleeding lip before his sight blurred and tunnelled in and everything went dark. The last thing he saw was Dagon’s feet retreating from his crumpled form and out the cell door, an obviously ecstatic expression on their face.


	4. Chapter 4

It had started to rain but Crowley didn’t care. He skidded the Bentley to a halt outside a rather non-descript building. The outside looked like a standard corporate skyscraper, but if any stray person were to wander in for whatever the reason, they would immediately be back outside on the sidewalk. If they tried again, they’d find themselves in Stratford. He ran in, miraculously not getting soaked by the downpour, and made for the left side. He hit a wall that knocked him down to the ground.

“**_FUCK_**!” He stood, growled, and ran at it again with the same outcome. He looked around for something, _anything_, to throw or break or otherwise take his rage out on. But found nothing. He let out the same scream that rocked his flat, but here it had no effect.

Crowley eyed the escalator on the right. They wouldn’t let him up there, would they? No. No way. They would never. Right? He was a Demon and branded a traitor to both sides. They wouldn’t dare…right? He stood in front of it and stared up at where it disappeared into a bright light. When he reached a hand out towards it, it stung his fingers and he immediately pulled his hand back. It seemed they had their own protection.

He dropped to his knees and did something that he hadn’t done in a very, very, _very_ long time.

He prayed.

_ -Uh…hey, God. It’s been a while, I know, but I need some help here. They’ve taken him. They’ve taken Aziraphale. And I can’t get to him. He needs help. They’ve shut me out and I don’t think Heaven would like it very much if I just sort of waltzed in and demanded help. I’m **fucking** pissed off, but I’m not stupid. Listen God uh…I uh…I **love** him. And a life without him isn’t worth it. He’s the only, really, **truly** good one you’ve got. Please…don’t let him die. I don't think I could bear to lose him again...-_

He stood and waited. He waited for what seemed like an eternity—really, though, it was only about five minutes—just staring up at the escalator. He didn’t have time for this, he needed to get to Aziraphale. He tried the left again, pressing both palms to it and straining as he pushed with all his strength. He yelled. Kicked and punched the invisible wall preventing him from entering Hell. He struck it until his knuckles began to bleed. Shaking with rage, he slid down and cried.

“Please.” He managed to choke out between sobs. “_Please_…” The force that had been blocking him lit up in a golden light and faded away. He fell through to the other side in surprise. When he turned around, the wall was there again. He could worry about their escape later, for now, he needed to get down there and save Aziraphale from his most certain death.

-_Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyouthanky— -_

* * *

He was sitting in a pool of his own drying golden blood. It was pouring from various cuts and burns and from his mouth and nose; One eye was swollen nearly shut. He swayed on his knees, still chained to the floor. When the cell door opened, he flinched and recoiled as close to the floor as he could, curling in on himself to appear as small as possible. It was a different Demon again. It was _always_ a different Demon. He guessed they were lined up, waiting for their turn at a chance to torture an Angel. This one had a pair of large shears, the ones usually used on hedges.

The Demon circled him a few times, a sickly smile on their face. They stopped behind him, running the cold dark steel of the scissors up his bare spine. It burned him. They stopped between his shoulder blades and were pressed roughly into the skin there. Aziraphale stuttered out a little whimper of pain. He _knew_ what they wanted. They wanted his wings again. He shook his head and the steel pushed harder into his back, pressing him closer to the ground.

“Wings. Now.”

“N-no…_please_…”

“So stubborn.” The Demon tutted and pulled the shears open, placing the v of them against his neck. “I could so very easily discorporate you right now, you know that, right? Just one _snip_. I could get quite the accommodation from my Dark Lord for bringing him your head. Or…you know, you could just do as your told. Wings.”

“…Why…” His voice was quiet, hardly a whisper, hoarse from his time in the cell.

“You know why.” The Demon dragged the shears away, leaving fresh cuts and burns on his neck; They snapped them closed again. He winced and cried as they were back at his shoulder blades again. “Wings.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his wings out of their ethereal plane and into the physical world. They were tattered and bleeding, blackened in some places where they had been burned, and drooping where they had been broken. He kept them folded as close to his body as he could. The Demon did _not_ like that. They gripped at the one that was the limpest and pulled it out roughly, eliciting a strangled sob from the Angel. The Demon ran the edge of the shears down a patch of skin where the feathers had been ripped out, leaving behind a red, burning trail.

Aziraphale whimpered but held still. They had told him. Over and over to be still.

_ Be still and it won’t be as bad. Be still and I’ll stop. Be still and I won’t hit as hard. Be still, and maybe I won’t fuck you._

So, he did. He fought it at first, yes. The first few times they had told him to not move. He writhed and bucked and bit and screamed. The punishment always ended worse than it was originally intended. So, he started obeying. Trying to find some sort of light, some sort of hope, some way to make the pain less. Just…_less_.

The first time he was violated, he felt like he had been there for days. He was pulled from a restless sleep by hot hands and sharp nails. Gripping his hips and clawing his skin until it bled. They didn’t say a word to him, just thrusted violently into him over and over and over again until they finished, releasing their seed as hot as lava into him. He sobbed. Cast back down to the floor, dirty and used, he cried and wished for his freedom. For his death. He just wanted it to end.

“You know,” The Demon currently behind him began, opening the shears with a sick rasping of metal on metal. “He’s not coming for you. They told me so. Said they found him and told him you were here. And you know what he said to them?” The Demon paused for a moment, slowly closing the scissors over the exposed skin. “He told them he didn’t give a fuck! That he was finally free of your incessant nagging.”

“I…I don’t—**_AHH_**!” He was interrupted by the scissors cutting deeply into his wing, sending a new river of blood down the feathers and to the floor, pooling by his knees.

“I didn’t tell you to speak, little piggy.” The Demon grinned, circling back to Aziraphale’s front. “Maybe we ought to bring back the Incubus. They seem to like you very much. They’ve left little love bites all over your back. How cute.”

“N-no…_please_, no…” There was a clamouring outside the cell door and the Demon’s eyes shot up at it, brows furrowed. Screaming outside sent them running, flinging the door open, and closing it with a loud clang when they left. Aziraphale heard footsteps sprinting. Wings flapping. More screaming. Then everything was dreadfully silent. And he shook. He shook so hard whatever feathers he had left began scattering around him. He curled in on himself and cried, waiting for whatever or whomever it was that was coming to ruin him again. “…_Please_, not the Incubus…_please_, not them…_anything_ but that…_please_…”

“**_ANGEL!_**” Aziraphale shot up at the shout, eyes wide and confused. No, it couldn’t be. He had been there so long he thought he had been forgotten. He cried and cried and cried. Tears streaked down his face, washing away the grime and leaving trails. “**_AZIRAPHALE! WHERE THE HEAVEN ARE YOU?!_**”

“C…Crowley…” He continued to sob, trying to find a voice loud enough to call to him. Somewhere outside his cell, more screaming was heard followed by an unearthly snarl. The sound of spattering blood and limbs being torn apart. “C…C-Crowley!”

“**_ANGEL!_**” His cell door was suddenly ripped from its hinges and there stood a Demon he did not recognise. Covered in black blood, tall and menacing, body all black and red scales, wings shadowy and wide, large dark horns curling out from a head of messy red hair, eyes…yellow serpentine eyes wild and feral and searching. He was scared until he saw those eyes. And relief washed over him and he was suddenly a whimpering mess. Words, not nearly as formed as he would’ve liked, tumbled from his lips, and he shook almost violently.

“…Crowley!” The Demon snarled at his state and quickly approached. Aziraphale did not flinch. Crowley would _never_ hurt him, he knew that. A swipe of sharp claws broke the chains and he was being scooped up, held close to the cold body of _his_ Demon. He whispered into his chest. “I knew…I knew you’d come…they tried to tell me you wouldn’t, but I _knew_…”

“**_Of courssse, I did._**” Crowley tried his best not to growl but failed. It couldn’t be helped while he was in that form. “**_Hold on as tight as you can, Aziraphale. Getting out of here isss going to be tricky._**”


	5. Chapter 5

Things were speeding by in a blur. Blue-black wings, large and powerful, propelled them through the halls of Hell, following the path of dark blood that Crowley had carved out on his way in. What few Demons stood in their way were almost immediately cut down by Crowley’s wrath. He swiped at them with claws, or bit at them with fangs, shot molten venom at their faces and feet. Aziraphale just clung to him, face buried in the crook of his neck. When they finally reached the escalator, Crowley stopped and snarled.

“**_Out of my way!_**” Beelzebub, Dagon, and Hastur stood in front of the exit.

“We underezztimated you, Crowley.” Beelzebub stated with a bored sort of expression before looking at the path of blood and limbs behind him. “You’re stronger than I thought.”

“**_You took the one being in thisss entire fucking universe that I care for!_**” He bared his fangs and hissed. “**_What the fuck did you think wasss going to happen? Were you expecting me to just roll over and ssshow my belly? Oh, please, Prince Beelzebub, let him go. I’ll do anything. FUCK OFF!_**”

“Crowley, dear…” Aziraphale whispered against his neck and began to glow with a very faint golden light. “L-let me…I…I’ll be _damned_ if they hurt you…”

“**_What?_**” Yellow eyes stared incredulously at the Angel’s face. Aziraphale held out a shaking hand towards the three Demons by the exit. His breathing quickened and he squeezed his eyes shut as a blast of light shot through his palm, singeing the three and knocking them out of the way. He collapsed limply in Crowley’s arms, a fresh trickle of gold blood coming from his nose. Crowley wasted no time. He flapped his wings and shot through the miraculously open exit, skidding into the entry way of the skyscraper. He didn’t stop there. With a major demonic miracle, he ported them back to Aziraphale’s book shop, enclosing them in the protective runes; he could always come back for the Bentley.

Once safely inside, his form shifted to one that was a bit more human as he gently laid the Angel down on the bed in the upstairs flat. Willing his claws away, he began his examination of the blond. He was naked and covered from wing to foot in gashes and bruises, some of which seemed very, very old. He had only been gone for maybe a few hours at most, Earth time. But in Hell…how long had it been? Days? Weeks? A scar on Aziraphale’s forehead told him it was longer. He frowned and rushed away to gather a bucket of hot water and some old bedclothes.

Aziraphale didn’t bother keeping a first-aid kit in the shop or flat. _He_ didn’t need it. And if any ‘customers’ somehow got hurt, then that was just a good excuse for them to leave. Because of this—and the fact that he did not have the capacity for healing miracles—Crowley had to improvise. He ripped the sheets into long, thin sections and set to work cleaning any wounds he could find. He started with Az’s body, covering his lower half respectfully with the duvet when he was done. Of course, he noticed the bite marks. That only made him scowl even deeper.

The wings were going to be the hardest. They lay in tatters. Bloody and broken and all but bare. Gently, he felt along their lengths, finding any breaks and setting them as quickly as he could. It was a good thing Aziraphale was already unconscious. The bones made a sickly crack as he set them back into place and secured them with a few metre sticks he had found in the bookshop. After he was done with his ministrations, he just stood there, staring down at the Angel. He drew up a chair and, returning fully to his normal self, sat with Aziraphale’s hand in his own. He cleaned his face off, wiping it of the blood and tears and dirt, and he waited.

* * *

He had woken up to a different Demon in his cell. Not Dagon. And immediately, ignoring the hammer in their hand, he started his questions. Defiant in the face of danger. Crowley would’ve called him an idiot. But that was the one thing keeping him going. Crowley’s snarky voice in the back of mind, gently chiding or mocking him, and his beautiful golden eyes. He held onto that. He held onto Crowley and his faith in him.

“Where’s Dagon? Or Beelzebub? I have some questions that I would very much like the answers to.” The Demon only laughed and swung the hammer. Aziraphale managed to dodge the first attempt, but due to his limited movements, caught the next on his arm. He howled in pain.

“Be still, Angel. And it won’t be as bad.”

“Well, I certainly do not believe that.” He spoke through gritted teeth and watched as the hammer came towards his face. It hit him in the cheek, re-opening the injury from the nine tails and making a new, deep purple bruise. “Why take me? I thought your lot all wanted Crowley!”

“What better way to get him than to take you?” The Demon shrugged and brought the hammer down again, this time on his shoulder.

“Oh, well that’s just idiotic.” He retorted, pushing through the pain, and tried to bluff his way out. “Why on Earth do you think that plan will work? We’re not even friends!”

“Surveillance says otherwise.” The Demon sighed. “You talk way too much. This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Fun?!” Aziraphale scoffed and was hit in the back of the head, falling back to the floor out cold once more.

The next time he awoke, he was told it had been a few days. Of course, he didn’t believe that, but really, he had no way of knowing for sure. Dagon was back again with a dagger this time. It was dark steel and shimmered with an orange glow. A Demonic weapon. He hissed when the flat of the blade slid under his shirt, up his back. It tore through his clothing and burned his skin, leaving behind blackened blisters and red irritation. He tried not to scream. Instead, he panicked and tried to scoot away, pulling at the chains. Dagon had just let out a sigh, grabbing and pulling him up by his hair.

“Be still, and I’ll stop.” The blade was positioned at his neck now, smoking as it barely made contact, delivering the smallest of cuts. He winced but listened. He stilled. “Good boy.”

“You…seriously only took me to get at Crowley?”

“Yes and no. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want you anyways, it seems.” The dagger pressed a little harder. “And I believe you should only speak when spoken to, you little _shit_.” Dagon let go of his hair and circled around before pressing the knife into his back. “Show me your wings.”

“…What?”

“Show me your wings.” They growled lowly, pressing the dagger harder.

“N…No.” Aziraphale furrowed his brows and closed his eyes, waiting for the blow to the head, like he usually got when he didn’t do what they wanted. That never came. Instead, a white-hot pain shot down his back and he screamed. Dagon grinned and pulled the knife back, watching with interest as the golden blood dripped along the blade and down their hand.

“Show me your wings.” Aziraphale cried and shivered, letting his wings fold out and around himself. Dagon stared at them and hummed in approval, running the dagger along some of the feathers and watching them catch flame. The Angel whimpered and sucked in a breath as the fire singed parts of his flesh. Someone calling Dagon’s name from outside the cell got their attention and they sighed. They sheathed the dagger and made for the cell door. “Lucky you…I think I’ll send a surprise visitor to you later. They've been just _dying_ to see you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley stood watch over Aziraphale for four days. He would change the bandages twice a day, cleaning the wounds and trying to reposition his wings into a more comfortable arrangement. On the last day, the Angel stirred, and Crowley was there immediately, ready with a pitcher of water and something small to eat. Az groaned, tried to sit up, winced, and was gently pushed back down by Crowley.

“Hey, hey. No. Lay back down.” The Demon shushed him gently, running soothing fingers across the palm of his hand. “You’re in absolutely no state.”

“…Crowley?” The blond groaned again and blinked his eyes open, bleary vision trying to focus on the red-head’s face.

“Yeah. Yeah, its me.” He gave him a worried little smile and held a cup of water up to his lips. He drank it down greedily.

“Oh…Oh, that’s _so_ much better…thank you.” He returned the smile before looking down at himself. “Oh, good _Lord_, look at me.”

“Hrnk…” Crowley barked out a bitter little laugh. “Only you would say something so prim after being rescued from a torturous visit to Hell.”

“Yes. Quite…” Aziraphale’s smile faded and his vision glassed over, staring off into nothing. Tears welled up in his eyes, sliding down his cheeks silently.

“Woah, hey. Hey.” Crowley jumped up, quickly drying the tears as they poured. “I’m sorry. That was…a stupid joke. I’m so sorry I—”

“I-It’s quite alright, dearest.” Az cleared his throat and looked over to his wings with a sigh. “Broken?”

“Ah, hnn…Yeah. I bound them best I could. Couldn’t heal you…sorry…”

“You did your very best, dear.” Az gave him a little pat. “Well…I uh…I have a stash of holy water hidden in the kitchen.” Crowley gave him a pointed look, mouth gaped. “Oh, it’s not like _that_. I hid it there shortly after our respective trials as a precaution. It’s in another thermos. Above the refrigerator.”

“Will it…help you?” Aziraphale made an affirmative noise and at once Crowley was up, bounding off to the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets. A triumphant ‘HA!’ filtered into the bedroom and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile a little again. Crowley came back in with a grin, holding out the thermos like it was about to explode. He helped the Angel into a sitting position, shoving pillows behind his back. He stepped away, standing on the opposite side of the room, as the thermos cap was unscrewed.

“I’m not going to spill it on you.” Aziraphale chuckled but winced at the pain it caused. He brought the container to his lips and took a very big gulp. A few of the cuts and bruises on his body slowly vanished and the bleeding in his wings stopped. The cap was replaced, and the container set on the side table. “Safe to come back over, dearest.”

“I uh…” Crowley took his seat again and gestured towards the little plate he brought in with him. “I brought you a muffin. If you feel up to eating.”

“A muffin?” Aziraphale eyed the pastry and smiled widely. “Oh, I haven’t eaten in _weeks_. And that looks positively delicious!”

“…_Weeks_?” Crowley furrowed his brows.

“Well, yes. I was gone for…oh I don’t know…quite a long while, I assume. I couldn’t really keep track of time very well.” He snatched up the muffin and devoured half of it, crumbs falling all over the bed. He didn’t care right now.

“Aziraphale…on Earth…you were only gone for about two hours.”

“…What?” He stopped mid chew, staring wide quivering eyes up at Crowley.

* * *

He had been left in the dark and cold for days. Alone with his injuries. He tried to fold his wings away but found that he couldn’t. He cried in his sleep, dreaming of falling in a deep, dark void, calling Crowley’s name. He awoke in complete darkness to the door of his cell opening and shutting, but he couldn’t see anything. Just the inky blackness around him. But he could hear it. The shuffling and the rise and fall of footsteps coming towards him.

Someone grabbed hot, burning fingers into his hair, pushing his face down into the ground. Their other hand ripped his trousers off. He screamed and bucked, trying to kick the attacker away, but to no avail. The silent predator behind him scratched and bit at his soft flesh before thrusting their scorching cock into him. He screamed, louder than he had ever before and cried as the pain ripped through him in sick waves. He was fucked into the rough stone floor, leaving scrapes along his face and chest.

The attacker clawed at him, gripping his wings and shredding the feathers and skin; one wing bowed—dangerously close to snapping—under the force. With a grunt, the Demon was finished and that burned him too. They left without a word, leaving him to curl up on the cold, damp ground in a pool of blood and tears and semen. He gagged and heaved, spilling what little remnants of his stomach contents to the floor as well. And he cried.

The Incubus didn’t come back for a while, and for that he was thankful. Instead, Demon after Demon came into his cell. Each with their own choice of weapon. Some used hammers and whips and bats. Others preferred to get their hands a bit dirty. On one occasion, one of his many visitors came in dragging with them a large pair of medieval blacksmith’s tongs. They opened them up with a laugh and enclosed them around a part of his already battered wing, wrenching it down with a gruesome splintering of bone. He choked out a scream. The pain from that had made him light-headed. When the tongs were released from his wing, they were brought down along the edge instead with another crack. He jumped at the unexpected shock and tried to get away.

“Be still and I won’t hit as hard.” Was all the Demon had said. Aziraphale complied, but the blows kept coming anyways, just as hard and rough. When he passed out from the agony, the Demon left. It wasn’t fun if he wasn’t awake, after all.

Hours turned to days turned to weeks. He had been battered and torn and burned and raped and left to rot with his wounds untreated. They would tell him he was alone, that no one was coming for him, that Crowley didn’t want him anymore. He refused to believe that. But his hope was thin, nearly vanished. But in the back of his mind, he kept Crowley’s voice, his eyes, the feel of his skin and lips on his own. When he was alone, in that murky darkness of his cell, he would close his eyes and retreat into that special place in his brain. It would renew his hope and warm his soul. And he cried and called Crowley’s name. Like a mantra, it kept him grounded.

Whenever the cell went completely pitch-black, he knew what was coming. The Incubus was back. His breath came fast, hyperventilating in horror and sheer panic. He whispered his pleas, over and over and over again. But the footsteps just kept getting closer. He skittered as far away from them as his bonds would allow and wept. The shadowed hand reached out, yanking the chains back towards them. Aziraphale stumbled and was hauled to his knees by his curls. He trembled.

“Be still and maybe I won’t fuck you.” It was the first time he had heard the Incubus speak, their voice dark and deep like velvet. It would have been quite soothing a voice if he had been in a different situation. Another hand reached out and ran delicately over Aziraphale’s cheek, almost affectionately. He whimpered and let his tears fall down his cheeks and over the scalding fingers. A clawed thumb passed over his lips, forcing his mouth open. It slid inside and held his jaw wide. “No biting. Or I will end your pathetic life. Do you understand, pretty thing?”

“Hnnk…” The Angel cried and nodded. He knew what was going to happen and there wasn’t much he could do to stop it. The Incubus hummed in approval and removed their thumb, replacing it with the head of their large, shadowed cock. The hand in his curls tightened painfully and they thrusted into his mouth, well past where it should have been physically possible. Aziraphale suppressed a gag and closed his eyes, retreating back into that special place in his mind.

_-Crowley. Crowley’s voice. His smell. Cinnamon and hearth. His hair. So red and wild. His eyes. Beautiful, golden, captivating. His hands. Softer than I ever imagined. His lips. Oh, his lips. So soft and warm. The way he walks. Like a silly upright slither. The way he babbles when he’s drunk. Oh, all the silly, idiotic things he says. Crowley. My Crowley. My love. Please…-_

His throat burned with the Incubus’ release and he coughed and sputtered, throwing it up onto the cold stone floor with a horrid retching; it tasted bitter and acidic. The Incubus patted his head and left as silently as they came in. Aziraphale collapsed onto his side, tears streaking his face as he closed his eyes and went back to Crowley.


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley bit the inside of his cheek. He shouldn’t have said anything. The look on Aziraphale’s face was a mixture of confusion and horror. He hated that. He knew, just by looking at the wounds covering the Angel’s body, that he had to have been gone for longer than the two Earthly hours, but that was hard to wrap his head around. Then, all at once, he remembered something and winced at the recollected knowledge. He could only imagine what Aziraphale was feeling.

“…Two hours?” Crowley only nodded, tasting blood in his mouth now. He swallowed it down in an audible gulp. “B-but…but I…it was…it _had_ to have been…_weeks_…I don’t understand…”

“It’s uh…” Crowley cleared his throat. He didn’t want to continue this conversation, and he absolutely _loathed_ what he was about to say, or the fact that he even knew such information in the first place. “It’s uh…part of the torture pits. Time manipulation. Bending the fabric of time to…stretch out punishments. It’s why some of your wounds are already scarred over. Like you’ve been there for…” He eyed the one particular mark on Aziraphale’s forehead. It was pale and risen ever so slightly. “…Maybe a month or two.”

“Oh…” Was Aziraphale’s only response before the tears started up again. Immediately, Crowley was up by his side, pulling him into a careful embrace.

“It’s alright. I’m here. You’re safe now.” Crowley frowned as Aziraphale let loose, sobbing into his chest, shaking from the emotion. He ran a comforting hand through his hair and along his back. The Angel let out a little yelp and scooted away. “Sorry! I’m…sorry. Did I…did I hurt you?”

“N-n-no…just…touched a sensitive spot. It’s…alright.”

“Right…sorry…” Crowley furrowed his brows, thinking about the bite marks that were all over his Angel’s back and neck and wondering why they were there and who the sick fuck was that _bit_ his Angel. “Should you…you know…drink more of _that_?” He gestured towards the thermos.

“I…yes. In a bit, yes.” He nodded and placed the rest of the muffin he had been eating back on the plate; he suddenly wasn’t very hungry anymore. “I’m rather…tired. I think I’ll go back to sleep for a bit.”

“Good idea.” Crowley dusted the crumbs away and helped the blond lie back down, careful not to jostle his wings too much. “Get as much rest as you need. I’ll be right here.”

“Thank you, dearest.” Az gave him a weary smile and closed his eyes. Crowley took up his hand again and held it, gently rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. Once he was sure that Aziraphale was in a deep sleep, he silently slipped from the room and went downstairs, pacing in the backroom.

“…They will pay.” He gritted his teeth and attempted to keep his voice low. He didn’t want to wake the resting Angel above him. “Universe be _damned_, they will pay for what they have done to him. Are you listening, God? Or Satan? _Someone_! They will _fucking_ pay! And I don’t care which one of you helps me, if any at all, but I _will_ take my vengeance! Best stop me now, because once I start, I will not stop until every single one of those _fuckers_ is dead! Not just discorporated, but properly, truly dead! I will mount their heads on my wall! Do you hear me?!”

Crowley let out a shaky breath, trying his best not to scream at the top of his lungs to either of the sides, and slid down one of the bookshelves to the floor. He was tired. Using that much demonic power four days ago was dangerous and it had really worn him out. He trudged his way back up the stairs and to the bedroom, taking his place back by Aziraphale’s slumbering side. He took Az’s hand and laid his head down. Closing his eyes, he took a much-needed nap.

* * *

They really liked his wings. They liked to rip the feathers out. Sometimes in handfuls, sometimes, agonisingly, one at a time. When the flesh below was exposed, they liked to cut it. Burn it. Flay it away. Some even bit it. Whatever would draw golden blood and elicit a scream. He learned early on that they liked his screaming too. He tried not to do it. Choking back sobs and whimpers and instead squaring his shoulders and giving them defiant looks. Or…as defiant as he could give while being in agony.

They didn’t like that. Some got bored of him and left quite quickly. While others, annoyed that he wasn’t reacting, would try harder. Hitting harder, cutting deeper, burning until his flesh blackened and crackled. Sometimes he couldn’t hold it back anymore and gave them just what they wanted. A shout filled with pain. They would be happy with that. When they had their fill, they would leave and the next would come in. And it would start all over again.

The Incubus became a regular visitor. With their hot hands and sharp claws. Always biting at his neck and shoulders. Pulling at his wings if he was taken from behind. Or gently caressing his cheek while he was irrumated. Aziraphale tried not to think about what was happening. Shrinking into that little warm corner of his mind he had reserved for his sessions with the Incubus. The place where he could see Crowley again.

_-Crowley, my love. I see you now. Your shining, golden eyes. So beautiful. I know you’d hate it if I told you that. But you are. So very beautiful. My darling. I miss you. Your hands and lips and eyes. Your voice, always so abrasive but so full of affection. I can tell. I have loved you for so long. Please…please, my dear. Please find me. Please...-_

Days passed again before he saw anyone after that.

He was sitting in a pool of his own drying golden blood. It was pouring from various cuts and burns and from his mouth and nose; One eye was swollen nearly shut. He swayed on his knees, still chained to the floor. When the cell door opened, he flinched and recoiled as close to the floor as he could. It was a different Demon again. It was _always_ a different Demon. He guessed they were lined up, waiting for their turn at a chance to torture an Angel. This one had a pair of large shears, the ones usually used on hedges.

_ -Please, Crowley…please…-_

Reluctantly, he pulled his wings out of their ethereal plane and into the physical world. They were tattered and bleeding, blackened in some places where they had been burned, and drooping where they had been broken. He kept them folded as close to his body as he could. The Demon did _not_ like that. They gripped at the one that was the limpest and pulled it out roughly, eliciting a strangled sob from the Angel. The Demon ran the edge of the shears down a patch of skin where the feathers had been ripped out, leaving behind a red, burning trail.

_ -It hurts. It hurts so much…please…-_

“N-no…_please_, no…” There was a clamouring outside the cell door and the Demon’s eyes shot up at it, brows furrowed. Screaming outside sent them running, flinging the door open, and closing it with a loud clang when they left. Aziraphale heard footsteps sprinting. Wings flapping. More screaming. Then everything was dreadfully silent. And he shook. He shook so hard whatever feathers he had left began scattering around him. He curled in on himself and cried, waiting for whatever or whomever it was that was coming to ruin him again. “…_Please_, not the Incubus…_please_, not them…_anything_ but that…_please_…”

_ -Please…please…please…Crowley…-_

“**_ANGEL!_**” His cell door was suddenly ripped from its hinges and there stood a Demon he did not recognize. Covered in black blood, tall and menacing, body all black and red scales, wings shadowy and wide, large dark horns curling out from a head of messy red hair, eyes…yellow serpentine eyes wild and feral and searching. He was scared until he saw those eyes. And relief washed over him and he was suddenly a whimpering mess. Words, not nearly as formed as he would’ve liked, tumbled from his lips, and he shook almost violently.

_ -Crowley! Oh, Crowley, my love. I would recognise those eyes anywhere. Those wonderful, beautiful, captivating eyes. You’ve found me. You’ve found me. I knew you would…thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I’ve missed you. Please…please…-_


	8. Chapter 8

Aziraphale shot up and awake about a week later with a frightful scream, sending Crowley tumbling from his chair and to the floor in surprise. He sobbed and shook violently, wrapping his arms about himself. Crowley was quickly back to his feet, shushing the blond with gentle touches and coos of ‘It’s alright. I’ve got you. It’s ok. You’re safe.’. The shivering subsided, if only a little, and he clung to Crowley’s shirt, wetting it with his tears. They stayed that way for a while until Aziraphale’s crying quieted to sniffling.

“I…I…so sorry.” He finally spoke, voice muffled by Crowley’s chest. “…Didn’t mean to frighten you, dear…”

“Don’t apologise. It’s alright. Just had me a bit worried is all…” The Demon reached over and snagged the thermos off the side table and began unscrewing the cap. Aziraphale’s hands stopped him and he gave him a shocked look.

“No! I don’t want you getting _hurt_, you great big lummox!”

“Ah, there’s the Aziraphale I know. Calling me names.” Crowley gave a little smirk and allowed the thermos to be taken from him. He stood from the bed for a moment while the blond drank, returning only once the cap was secured and it was placed back on the table. Az gave a sigh of relief as more of his wounds healed shut. “Angel. I uh…I need to take a look at your bandages. If that’s alright.”

“Oh…” The blond fidgeted with the edge of the blanket that was covering him. “Right. Of course.”

“I’ll be as gentle as I can.” He pulled back the duvet, starting the inspection with his legs. He removed bandages that were no longer needed and replaced ones that were still healing. He covered his lower half again and made his way up to Aziraphale’s back and chest. He gave a satisfactory nod at how well he was healing and sat back to examine his wings. Az winced and moved away a little.

“…Please…_don’t_…” Fresh tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

“Aziraphale, I need to make sure the breaks are healing properly.” Crowley placed a gentle hand to his cheek and frowned when he flinched away from that too. He drew his hands back, holding them up in a non-threatening way between them. “Please…let me help you.”

“S-sorry…it’s just…my _wings_…” His eyes darted about wildly, glancing back at the destroyed plumage. “They…they focused on them quite a bit…it was…_unpleasant_.”

“I think that was the point.” Crowley stated dryly and sighed, holding his hands still up between them. “Just…I’ll be quick. I just want to make sure they’re still set right to heal.”

“…A-alright…just…please, be quick.”

“Promise.” Aziraphale shifted a bit to give Crowley better access and he squeezed his eyes shut. Crowley’s touch was cool and welcome, and he gave a little hum of appreciation. The cold hands felt along various bandages, removing them and changing them before focusing on the metre sticks. They were extricated and he sighed in relief when they weren’t replaced. “Don’t need those anymore. You can probably put your wings away now. They’ll heal faster in the ethereal plane anyways.”

“Oh, thank the Lord.” He sighed and the wings folded away, disappearing into nothingness. “I can lay much more comfortably now…”

“I probably should thank Her better…” Crowley muttered and Aziraphale cocked his head. “Oh, she opened up the escalator to Hell for me.”

“She _what_?”

“Oh, yeah.” The red-head nodded and gave a little smirk. “I prayed.”

“You prayed?” Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “_You_?”

“That so hard to believe?”

“Yes! You’re a Demon!”

“I prayed for _you_. Not for me. Maybe that’s why She listened.” Crowley gave a little shrug and eyed the plate of pastries he brought in earlier. “Feel up to eating a bit? You could use all the help retaining energy that you can get. How about while you eat that, I can make you some cocoa? I’ll even use the marshmallows you like so much.”

“Oh…some cocoa does sound _quite_ lovely…” Aziraphale hesitantly picked a croissant up, tearing little bits off at a time to eat.

“In that case, I’ll be right back.” Crowley gave his knee a little pat and stood, heading back into the kitchen to start the kettle.

Aziraphale watched his retreating form, the smile fading from his lips. His eyes settled on the pastry in his hand, looking right through it and into nothingness. He felt his eyes flooding again and sniffed in an attempt to stop the inevitable tears. But they fell anyways, and silent sobs overtook him, his shoulders tremoring. Visions of daggers and tongs, of bats and whips, of blood and torn feathers burnt to the ground, of bitter acid in his throat, all danced behind his closed eyes. Then he felt it, welling up in his stomach. He lurched forward, meaning to get out of the bed, but fell to the floor with a loud thump, vomiting up what little of the croissant he had eaten onto the hardwood floor. Crowley, hearing the commotion, rushed back into the bedroom, only to reel back a little at the sight.

“S-sorry, dear…seems I don’t have much of an appetite after all.”

“Aziraphale…” The red-head waved his hand, cleaning the mess away and helped the Angel to stand and sit on the edge of the bed. “Its…its ok. We can try again once you’re healed a bit more. Alright? I’ll get you as much cocoa as you want then.”

“…I think I would rather like that.” The Angel leaned forward, dropping his head onto Crowley’s shoulder. “A bit more rest and…I should be able to heal myself the rest of the way.”

“Don’t push yourself.” Crowley hesitantly brought his hands around Aziraphale’s waist. The blond flinched a little but settled against the Demon’s chest.

“I won’t.” Az took in a deep breath, revelling in the red-head’s scent. “Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you…lay with me?”

“…You sure?” Aziraphale just nodded and Crowley helped him back into his spot, miracling a pair of shorts onto him; he settled in next to him, face resting atop white-blond curls.

“…I thought about you.” Aziraphale’s voice came out muffled against Crowley’s clavicle, merely a whisper. “About everything that I adore about you…I locked it away in a small corner of my mind. I kept you there. And when I closed my eyes, I would go there. And be with you…They told me you didn’t want me anymore. That you were happy to be rid of me. But I didn’t believe them. I kept you with me. I knew you would come for me…”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley clenched his jaw and tightened his hold on the blond.

“When I was there, in that happy place, you would hold me just like this. I would smell your scent and see your _beautiful_ eyes.” The Demon made a grumble at this, but Az continued anyways. “Feel your cool skin against my own. It gave me the strength to hold on, even when it seemed very grim. Even when I felt like giving up. I kept you with me…”

“Shh, it’s alright.” The Demon’s scowl deepened, and he forced down another wave of rage. He stoked the blond curls, attempting to quiet the sobs that had begun to rack Aziraphale’s body again. He held him through the breakers of emotional agony until his sniffling had subsided and his breathing was heavy and even. He held him all through the night and next day while his brain—his clever and imaginative Demon brain—thought of all the ways he was going to take his vengeance against the denizens of Hell.


	9. Chapter 9

The following few weeks, Aziraphale alternated between sleeping heavily and sobbing silently in the bed while Crowley tried his damnedest to bring him back down. One day, after waking from a quick kip, Crowley found that Aziraphale was not in the bed anymore. He panicked and ran around the upstairs flat trying to find him. Not in the bedroom, not in the bath, not in the kitchen. Finally, hearing shuffling in the shop below, he ran down the stairs. He found the Angel in the backroom, sitting in his wingback chair with a book and a cup of cocoa; a few of the plants around him were perked up and shining happily. The blond gave him a little smile from over the steam.

“Hello, dear.”

“You’re out of bed.”

“I am, indeed.”

“Your…your injuries?”

“All healed.” Az gave a little nod and returned to his book. “Wings are still sore though and a bit sparse. But that’s to be expected.”

“Healed yourself?” Crowley, who had been frozen in the doorway since he found him, took a few long strides towards the Angel.

“Quite.” He placed a marker in his book and stood, placing both mug and book on the desk.

“…May I?” Crowley opened his arms, wide golden eyes searching Aziraphale’s face. The blond gave a cautious smile and, with a little nod, stepped into the embrace, giving a hum of approval as Crowley’s arms encircled him.

“Ahh…you are so cold…”

“Oh, sorry…” Crowley went to pull away, but Aziraphale tightened his grip on the shirt, effectively keeping him there. “Azira?”

“I like it. The cold. It’s…quite the opposite of my…uh…_experiences_.”

“Oh…” Crowley scowled, pulling Aziraphale in closer. He took in a deep breath before speaking again, trying to calm himself. “I called the Witch.”

“Anathema.”

“Yes, yes. Anathema.” Crowley waved the correction off. “I called her. She’ll be on her way from Tadfield.”

“Well, why would you do that? She has a child now. You can’t just call her to come to London willy-nilly.” Aziraphale didn’t move from his spot against Crowley’s chest, instead, he slid his hands under his shirt, seeking skin to skin contact. The Demon shuddered.

“I ah…uh…” Crowley found himself flushing a bit at the Angel’s bare hands resting on his hips. He cleared his throat. “She said it was alright. That…that _nerd_ is there.”

“Newton, dear.” He felt Aziraphale huff under his arms and smirked. “They’re _married_, you know.”

“I know. I just don’t care.”

“Why did you call her, dear?” Aziraphale leaned up, nuzzling into the Demon’s neck, eliciting a groan that he attempted to bite back.

“I uh…needed someone to watch after you for a bit. I have something I need to do.” It was his turn to run his hands up Aziraphale’s sides, snaking into the dressing-gown he was wearing. The Angel drew in a sharp breath but didn’t make any moves to pull away. “Also…I figured while she’s here, she could strengthen the runes. It’s about that time of year anyways.”

“Y-you can’t _leave_ the shop, Crowley.” Aziraphale protested weakly, a flush coming to his own cheeks. “What are you planning to _do_ exactly?”

“Ah, well…” The Demon shook his head, pouting his lower lip out a bit as he dipped down to kiss the shell of Aziraphale’s ear. “Just…you know…pop into Hell for a bit and have a heart-to-heart with Satan, is all.”

“_What_?” The moment lost, Aziraphale pushed back and frowned up at Crowley. “You _cannot_ do that!”

“I already made the appointment.”

“_Appointment_?!”

“Well, yes. How else am I going to speak directly to our Lord who-art-no-longer-in Heaven? He _requires_ an appointment.”

“You can’t go willingly into Hell Crowley!” Aziraphale fumed and stalked away to the other side of the room, waving his arms about. “The whole reason they took me in the first place was to get to _you_! And I will _not_ let them take you from me!”

“They’re not going to take me, Azira. I swear. I have an appointment to speak directly to Satan himself. Which comes with a free pass through the Halls of Hell.”

“And you think that they’re _not_ going to try something?! Especially after what happened?” The blond wheeled around and marched back to Crowley. “After the _complete_ massacre you left in your wake?”

“Oh, they can try if they want. But that would certainly piss the Dark Lord off.” He gave Aziraphale his best and most charming smile, a little wiggle to his shoulders. “I am untouchable right now.”

“Oh, good Lord.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless.

“Besides!” Crowley proclaimed, replacing his hands on Aziraphale’s sides. “Lucifer and I were friends once. Sort of the reason I Fell, you know. I’m sure he’ll at least listen to me a _bit_.”

“I don’t like this plan, Crowley.” Az frowned and leaned into Crowley’s touch, pressing their bodies together. He was glad that Crowley was cold-blooded. It was a stark difference from his own temperature and the temperature of the things he had experienced with his time in Hell. He took a deep breath, nuzzling his nose back against the Demon’s clavicle, hands roaming the skin under his shirt again. When he continued, his voice was low and quiet. “I don’t know what I would do if they took you from me. I…when I was in that cell…I wasn’t sure if I would ever see you again. If they didn’t kill me then I…I would’ve tried to do it myself. And I had thought about it…I had _seriously_ thought about it too. It was—I mean, it still _is_—a very frightening train of thought. Because, even now…when I think about what happened and all those things swarm my mind I…Well, I—”

“_Don’t_.” Crowley croaked out, his voice a whisper and his arms tight around Aziraphale’s waist. “You _can’t_. Azira…I didn’t fight to get you back only to lose you again. _Please_. Don’t leave me again. _Especially_ not by your own hand.”

“Oh, Crowley…” Aziraphale sighed against the Demon’s neck, sending goose bumps over the flesh. Crowley bit back another groan and tried to ignore the pressure on the zipper in his tight pants. Thankfully for him, the Angel didn’t seem to take notice.

“Uhm…Anathema won’t be here until tomorrow morning. And uh…” Crowley stuttered a bit over his words. “Well, my appointment with Satan isn’t until just after that.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised slightly, peeking up into the Demon’s flushed face. “And what do you propose we do?”

“Well, I just…I wanted to…Well, we never really got the chance to…continue where we left off before?”

“You wish to kiss me again?”

“Yes.”

“Then kiss me. Please.” Az clutched the front of Crowley’s shirt, staring his wide green-hazel eyes up at him. Crowley obliged and ducked his head down, pressing their lips together. And the love that Aziraphale felt in the touch brought him to tears. He sobbed into the kiss. Crowley moved his hands to rest on either side of the Angel’s face. He pulled back for only a moment, placing their foreheads together.

“I’ve got you. It’s alright.” He kissed away the tears between words of fury and conviction. “And I _swear_ to you. I am going to make them _pay_ for what they did to you. I will make sure they all _burn_.”

“And I believe you.” Aziraphale let himself be led to the sofa where they sat together, mouths entwined again. He allowed cold hands to push the dressing gown off his shoulders and a cool mouth to place tender and loving kisses to the flesh there. But when Crowley’s hand dipped into the elastic of his pants, Aziraphale stopped breathing and became still as a statue. Crowley turned confused golden eyes up to look at the Angel’s face. His eyes were squeezed shut and mouth turned down into a grimace.

“…Azira?”

“I just…sorry, dear. It’s just…I don’t think I’m ready for that. You know for…sex and what not.” He lied. He wanted him, quite badly. But he didn’t think he could handle telling the Demon the truth of what all had happened. He couldn’t do that. Shame ate away at him, fresh tears in his eyes. He attempted to replace his scowling with a smile but failed spectacularly.

“Azira.” Crowley came back up to be face to face with his Angel. “Azira I…I love you. And I…want to show you how much I love you. You don’t have to return anything to me, just…let me love you. Completely. I want you to know exactly how much I…_feel_…” He almost gagged at the word. “…for you.”

“Crowley, I…” Aziraphale stared into those beautiful, breath-taking golden eyes and felt severely conflicted. He loved Crowley. Very, very much. But the thought of anything much more than what they had already done sent his mind into a downward spiral. He thought about an inky blackness surrounding him and the taste of acid in his throat. He shivered and fought the urge to vomit. But this was _Crowley_. Not some unknown Incubus sent to torture him. Oh, he _wanted_ Crowley. All of him. Completely and utterly. He placed his hands on the Demon’s cheeks and gave a shaky nod of his head.

“Azira, it’s alright if you don’t want m—”

“No! It’s…it’s not that I don’t want you to. Oh, Lord, I _want_ to…I’m just…I don’t know…confused, I suppose is a good word?”

“Then let me ease your mind.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s cheek, moving down to his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, his chest. Down, down, rejoicing in the small gasps each touch of his lips elicited from the blond. He reached the elastic and smirked at the tented fabric below. Carefully and slowly, he reached in and freed Aziraphale’s pretty pink cock. He stroked it slowly before forking his tongue and running it along the underside. At once, Aziraphale’s hand found red hair and grasped it, making Crowley chuckle a little.

“O-oh, my…” The Angel was no longer conflicted. The dark thoughts of his cell and of his shadowed predator were edged out of the forefront of his mind, replaced with a warm, golden glow. With each touch from his Demon, the glow was strengthened and brightened. And he realised. _That_ was Crowley’s love. He was radiating it from his being and pouring it directly into Aziraphale. Every stroke, every swipe of a tongue. Crowley brought up his free hand, lacing his fingers with Aziraphale’s as he took his whole length into his mouth. Aziraphale moaned and let the warm glow overtake him completely. His hips began to move on their own, matching the slow bob of the Demon’s head.

Crowley enjoyed the sounds he was getting from the Angel, the tightening in his own pants starting to become a bit uncomfortable. He shifted, effectively rubbing himself against his own zipper. He moaned around the member in his mouth and Aziraphale seemed to like that as he bucked his hips up a bit more roughly. Crowley hummed again and tried not to smile as he received the same reaction. He’d have to remember that. Aziraphale’s breath was coming quicker now and the Demon could tell he was close. He doubled his effort, hollowing his cheeks and rutting against his jeans for his own release as well. Then it happened rather quickly and nearly frightened him. The Angel all but screamed and his whole body tensed as he came into the back of Crowley’s mouth. He spasmed, then fell limp, struggling a bit to catch his breath.

“O-oh, my…dear…I-I’m so sorry. That was rather…_loud_ of me.” Aziraphale finally spoke, covering his red face with his hands. “My neighbours are going to think I’m some sort of…of…_deviant_.”

“Ah, let them.” Crowley smiled languidly from his place in Aziraphale’s lap.

“Oh! Oh my, dearest what about your—”

“Don’t worry about it. Took care of itself.” He turned golden serpent eyes down to the wet spot on the front of his pants and gave a little shrug; He waved a hand and it was gone. He cuddled back into Aziraphale’s lap, cheek pressed to his stomach. The Angel carded through his red hair.

“…I love you too.”

“Eh?”

“I realised I didn’t say it back.” Aziraphale closed his eyes, letting his head fall onto the back of the sofa. “I love you too…and I could feel it, you know. Your love. It’s warm. Not scalding like Hell and not cold like a snake. But warm…like I’m being wrapped up in a cosy blanket and snuggled by a fireplace.”

“You realise that that’s what I feel from you _all_ the time? Since the beginning. Suppose that’s why I fell for you…” Crowley closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of nails being lightly scraped against his scalp. He wanted to stay here forever. Just lying in Aziraphale’s lap, basking in the glow of his love.

He had a very busy and very dangerous day ahead of him and he hoped and prayed—yes, _prayed_—that everything would work out. He would _never_ admit to being frightened, but somewhere inside of himself there was a tiny bit of fear that things were going to go horribly wrong and he was going to die in Hell and that they were going to take Aziraphale again. But it was that little inkling of fear that stoked the fires of fury in his being. Afraid or not, he was going to go to Hell tomorrow and have his audience with Satan. He was _going_ to take his vengeance. He was _going_ to make them pay. He had absolutely _no_ doubts about that in his mind at all.


	10. Chapter 10

Anathema stood outside the bookshop, staring up at the sign in the window. It said they were closed because Mr. Fell was on a holiday and would return whenever he felt like it. She just rolled her eyes and knocked, ducking as close to the door as she could to try and keep dry from the light rain. After a few moments, the door cracked open just slightly, enough for her to see one large yellow eye staring at her. The owner of the eye sighed and reached a hand out, pulling her in quickly by her coat.

“Nice to see you too, Crowley.” She pursed her lips up at him, smoothing out her clothing.

“Shh!” He pressed a finger to his lips, brows furrowed at her. “He’s taking a nap.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” She just sighed, lowering her voice and following the Demon into the backroom.

“Aziraphale was captured by Hell and tortured. I’m heading out to have a little _chat_ with Satan about it.” He was speaking through gritted teeth as he shoved his sunglasses onto his face.

“That…doesn’t sound like a very good idea.”

“I don’t need your input on my plans! I just need you to strengthen the runes and keep an eye on Azira!”

“Shh, he’s taking a nap.” She scowled up at him, spitting his words back at him in a mocking tone. Crowley took in a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm himself and _not_ harm the woman.

“Sssorry.” He growled and headed for the front door. “Just…please, look after him? See if you can get him to eat something. And don’t let him leave. And…if he starts crying again just…wrap him in a blanket and stick him by the fireplace.”

“The fireplace?”

“Yeah. Uh…he’ll like it.” With that, Crowley headed out the front door, disappearing into the now heavy rain fall.

“Right. Bye, I guess.” Anathema shrugged and got to work fortifying the runes in and around the building. It didn’t take long and she soon found herself staring down at a snoring Angel in the upstairs flat. She took up the seat by the bed and waited silently, watching his chest rise and fall steadily.

It was weird, seeing an Angel sleeping. She didn’t think that they actually slept at all, really. She figured they just sort of…existed. Which, she wasn’t _wrong_. Angels and Demons don’t normally make a habit of sleeping, except in the case of one particular red head. But she didn’t know this and was pleasantly surprised to think that they were actually sort of like normal humans after all. Aziraphale shifted in his sleep and groaned, slowly cracking his eyes open.

“Crowley, darling?”

“He’s gone out.” Anathema replied quietly from his side and he shot completely upright, whipping his head in her direction and staring wide eyed at her face.

“Anathema!”

“Hello, Aziraphale.” She gave him a little smile, but replaced it with a frown when she saw the look he was giving her. “You…knew he was going out, right?”

“I…uh…” Az sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “Yes. But I was rather hoping it had been a dream.”

“Nope. Not a dream. Your boyfriend is an idiot.” She stood and stretched. “You hungry or anything? I can make you something to snack on.”

“B-boyfriend? No, no. He’s not my _boyfriend_.” Aziraphale’s entire face went red and he followed Anathema to the kitchen. “He’s more of a…oh, I don’t know, really. We haven’t discussed the intricacies of our relationship yet.”

“You love him?” She started the kettle.

“Well, yes I—”

“And he loves you?”

“Well, I mean, I suppose he—”

“Boyfriend. Or…do you prefer ‘partner’? Well, you two have been together since the dawn of time, so I suppose you’d be considered common-law spouses.”

“W-we are not _married_!” Aziraphale huffed and took the mug from her as it was offered. “Marriage is a human construct anyways. It doesn’t apply to us.”

“Why not?” Anathema smiled at him from over her mug as she sat at the table; she slid him a plate with some cut up fruits and a couple pastries on it. He absently took it and popped a grape into his mouth. “You two are supposed to be living among humans and doing as we do, yeah?”

“Yes, to an extent.” A piece of melon followed by a bite of croissant.

“Then why not? You clearly love each other. I mean, look at him! He’s gone to Hell for you. His love for you has made him insane.”

“Oh, no. Crowley’s always been like that.” Aziraphale chuckled around a chunk of apple. “He’s always had a bit of a temper and he’s always been rather protective. I suppose it is quite sweet, really…”

“My point.” She gestured towards him, noting with a smile that the plate was now empty. “You two should talk when he gets back. Assuming he doesn’t piss the Devil off. Which, knowing Crowley, is inevitable. He seems to piss a lot of people off. Myself included.”

“Oh, I know the feeling. He can be quite _infuriating_ at times.” Az nodded, drinking down the last of his tea. “Your tea-making has improved, my dear.”

“You can thank Newton for that.”

* * *

As soon as Crowley rounded the corner leading away from the bookshop, he ducked into the alleyway and was imminently met by a pair of ink-black eyes and white hair. He groaned loudly, shoving his hands into his pockets. The Duke of Hell before him curled his lips up in a sneer, rolling his own eyes. He held out his elbow.

“Come on then, traitor.”

“Really? _You_? They sent _you_ to escort me?” Crowley linked his arm around the offered elbow with a grimace. “Surprised you’re even here after what happened with that Holy Light show Aziraphale put on.”

“It stung. A lot. It was very…_unpleasant_.”

“As I’m sure it was supposed to be.” Crowley smirked as the ground below them opened up, and they disappeared into it. They landed in the middle of a long, poorly lit hallway and Crowley quickly extricated himself from the Duke’s arm, dusting off his jacket as he did so. Hastur walked ahead of him and he followed. Crowley was happy to see that any Demons they passed in the halls shirked away from him in fright. He cackled, mainly to himself, and successfully scared off a few others. If they weren’t afraid of him, they certainly would be now.

Rounding one last corner, they came into a sort of waiting area with some rather uncomfortable looking chairs and benches, many of which were either broken or in some serious need of repair. A large set of iron double doors took up one of the walls; An intricate design of the fires of Hell and a stereotypical head of the Devil adorned them. Crowley rolled his eyes. Lucifer always did have a flair for the dramatic.

“Wait here until you’re called.” Hastur grumbled, standing guard by the entrance to the waiting room. Crowley shrugged and looked about for a seat that wasn’t broken. He didn’t find one, so instead he leaned against the far wall. Almost immediately, he heard his name called and the iron doors swung open with a loud groaning. Keeping his expression as neutral as he could, he sauntered through and the doors closed behind him.

“Hey, Luci. Long time, no see.” The room Crowley found himself in was rather large, almost cavernous. All dark colours with blood red accents. A main carpet led up to a Royal Court pomp where two thrones were seated. In the larger of the two a tall, slender man sat, his dark hair combed back, little curls falling to his forehead. He stared his shining, dark red eyes down at the serpent and sighed.

“Don’t call me that, Crowley.”

“Aw, come on. We were friends once.”

“That was a very long time ago.” Lucifer sighed again, running a hand over his brows. “I was told you wanted to speak to me about something important? I am very busy, so make it quick. I wish to exile you to Earth again as fast as possible.”

“Oh, so you _really_ don’t know what happened?” Crowley couldn’t control it anymore. He let a large grin take over his face and he removed his glasses to stare furious yellow eyes up at his King. “Some of your ‘_subjects_’ have been acting on their own.”


	11. Chapter 11

Aziraphale ended up eating more. And he didn’t even realise what he was doing until Anathema pointed it out to him. He had a bit of a laugh about that and made a comment on how she must have been really good at feeding her child. To which she replied with a laugh of her own, stating that she needed to have the patience and ability to supply distraction for both her kid _and_ her husband as they were both picky eaters. That line of conversation led them down into the backroom of the bookshop and to the liquor cabinet.

“I don’t normally share my wine with humans.” He eyed the bottle in his hand, staring at the faded date. “But I consider you a friend. And as you are keeping me company tonight, I suppose I will make an exception.”

“Thanks.” She took the offered wineglass and sat next to him on the sofa. “How long have you had this one?”

“I’m not sure, actually. The label is a bit too faded to make out.” He sighed comfortably, pulling a blanket across his lap. “Quite a long time, I suppose. I believe it is one Crowley got for me. Though I can’t quite remember when. Had to have been sometime in the 1920’s or so. He was a woman then. Just for a little while. He said he liked the dresses.”

“Wait, you guys can—”

“Oh, yes. Though I prefer to present as a man. I’m more comfortable this way.” Az sunk a little further into the cushions. “Crowley, on the other hand, is happy to be whatever Crowley _wants_ to be. He’s usually man-shaped, but occasionally he’ll throw something else in the mix when he feels like it. On occasion, he’ll wear a dress, with or without the bosom.”

“Oh.” Anathema stared off, imagining male-presenting Crowley in a dress. She nodded in approval and drank the wine. After a while of sitting in a comfortable silence, she chanced to speak again. “So uhm…Would you like to talk about what happened?”

“…What?” Aziraphale froze with the wineglass pressed to his lips. He lowered it slowly, staring down at his hands.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to but…” She placed her glass down and gently put a hand to his knee. “It’s helpful to talk though things. Even if it's painful. You don’t have to with me, that’s fine. But…you should talk with _someone_.”

“…Thank you, Anathema, dear. But…” Aziraphale turned his gaze up to her, eyes filled with slowly trailing tears. “I cannot subject you to the things that I experienced. I will _not_ do that to you. I am an Angel…and I can barely handle it myself.”

“I…I’m sorry I asked, Aziraphale.” She put her arm around him and guided him into an embrace, rubbing at his now shaking shoulders. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry…It’s alright. I’ve got you. It’s alright.”

* * *

“What do you mean?” Lucifer narrowed his eyes down at the lesser Demon before him, leaning forward in his throne, his fingers steepled together. “Who’s been acting on their own?”

“You _seriously_ don’t know.” Crowley twisted his face in anger, snarling the words up at his Lord. “They took my Angel from me. They took him and they held him in the torture pits! They did who knows _what_ to him! They kept him there and beat the _shit_ out of him! And you’re telling me you had no _fucking_ clue?!”

“They did _what_?” It was Lucifer’s turn to be angry now. He stood tall and menacing, a sickly, terrifying glow emanating from his body. He stalked down the few steps towards Crowley. Glowing red eyes stared down into golden. “_Who_?”

“Beelzebub, Dagon, and Hastur. At least.” Crowley met the King’s gaze straight on, unflinching. He was too pissed off to be afraid of Satan and it showed in the flames in his eyes. “Probably a handful of others. Angel didn’t say how many. He doesn’t know their names and he wouldn’t talk about what they looked like. He…he has bite marks. All over his back. I want the _fucker_ that bit him. I want to _personally_ attend to _them_.”

“While I am usually all in favour for general dissent and discord, I do not take too kindly to my legion breaking orders. They were told to leave you be. Her and I were in agreement on that.”

“Yeah, well, they didn’t. And quite a few of my brethren were slaughtered because of it.” Crowley dipped his head for a moment. “I uh…apologise about that. By the way. Sort of…left a scar of blood and limbs in my wake.”

“I can hardly blame you.” Lucifer cast a glance over his shoulder at the two thrones, eyeing the smaller one a moment longer. “If my own was taken from me, nothing in Heaven or Hell would be able to stop me.” His red eyes flicked back to Crowley. “You’ll have your vengeance.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“I’m not really your Lord anymore, now am I.” Lucifer gave him a bit of a grin.

“Old habits.”

“Indeed.” Satan turned on his heel and sat back in his seat. He snapped his fingers and the three mentioned Demons were suddenly in front of him and looking very much confused on how they got there. “Prince Beelzebub, Lord Dagon, Duke Hastur. Do you’ve any idea why you have been summoned?”

“No, my King.” The three went to their knees before the man, smartly keeping their eyes downcast, focused on the threads of the carpet instead.

“Perhaps you’d like the Demon Crowley to explain it?”

“What?” The three quickly turned their gazes to behind them where Crowley stood, hands in fists at his sides and fully yellow eyes staring daggers into their beings. “I…my King…I can explain!”

“No, I have heard all I need to know from the serpent.” Lucifer snapped again, effectively shutting Beelzebub’s excuse up. “Bring me all those that were responsible in the capture and torture of the Former Principality of Heaven, Aziraphale. _All_ of them.”

“…Y-yes, my King…” Dagon disappeared for a moment in a puff of smoke and returned a while later with a crowd following behind.

“This is everyone then?” Dagon just nodded, too afraid to speak. “Good. Which one of you likes to _bite_?” A few of the Demons took shaky steps forward. “On the back?” All but one stepped backward. The Incubus.

“…What?” Crowley let out a loud, raucous growl, baring his fangs. His horns began to make their appearance, curling out and back from his red hair. “**_YOU!_**” The Incubus began to shrink away, but Crowley, now all claws and fangs and scales, lunged after him, talons digging into the back of the Incubus’ neck, pinning him to the ground. “**_DID YOU FUCK HIM?!_**”

“I…Let me go—”

“**_DID. YOU. FUCK. HIM?!_**”

“Y-yes.” Crowley’s rage hit its peak. He shook with the force of it, _actually_ burning now. His hands on the Incubus singed skin and hair, catching them aflame. The shadowy Demon in his grasp screamed, but Crowley didn’t let go. He dug his claws deeper into the skin, pressing the Incubus further into the ground until black ichor ran between his fingers. Crowley glanced up at Lucifer.

“As promised, they are yours.” Lucifer nodded at him, then focused his steely red eyes on his serpentine. “When you are finished with them, I want you to leave and never return. And if anyone does something like this again…” He focused on the crowd of cowering Demons. “I’ll give you over to Crowley. I doubt you’ll survive his wrath. Discorporation isn’t that bad, as you’ll all soon learn. Maybe some time in the sulphur pits will put you all in your place.”

“**_Thank you, Luci._**” Crowley managed to choke out actual words before disappearing with the still screaming Incubus in tow.


	12. Chapter 12

Crowley didn’t leave Hell yet. He had something very important to do. Something involving an Incubus who liked to bite and the torture pits. After leaving Lucifer’s court, he had ported them to the same cell that he had found Aziraphale in and—with a quick demonic miracle to the shackles to prevent his prisoner from fleeing—forcefully chained the Incubus up in the same manner. The shadowed Demon screamed and kicked and bucked and tried to bite. They received a rather hard backhanded blow, sending them to the ground. Crowley growled in their face.

“**_You fucked my Angel._**”

“Yes.” The Demon laughed. A low, mocking sound. “And oh…he was so _tight_. So _loud_ too. Such a pretty little thing, he is.”

“**_You know,_**” Crowley began, delivering another hit to the Demon’s face. “**_I wasss thinking about letting you live. Wasss only going to beat the shit out of you. But no…not anymore. You’re going to die. And I’m going to enjoy it._**”

“I don’t believe you have it in you. You’ve gone too soft, living up there with Pretty Thing all these year—” The Incubus was silenced by Crowley’s talons.

The red head grabbed the Demon by the chin, claws digging into their jaw until fresh blood poured out and dripped onto the floor. It was then that the Incubus noticed the bag Crowley had slung over his shoulder. The serpent reached into it and pulled out a hollow metal tube about ten inches long and an inch and a half in diameter. He gave the Incubus a malicious little smile before squeezing his claws into their jaw again, forcing their mouth open. They tried to fight it, but Crowley was quicker. He forced the metal tube into the Demon’s mouth. Unfortunately for them, their teeth got in the way. But that wasn’t going to stop the serpent. He bared his fangs and delivered a brutal smack to the end of the tube, breaking the teeth and forcing the metal to rest at the back of the Incubus’ throat. They coughed and gagged, swallowing the blood and jagged pieces of bone.

“**_Ssstill don’t believe me?_**” Crowley grabbed the Incubus by the hair, lifting their head up to stare directly into their pitch-black eyes. “**_I’ve a sssurprise. Just for you._**”

“Hnnk!” The Incubus struggled, thrashing their head about in an attempt to get rid of the tube, but Crowley held fast to their hair while he fished around in his bag again. He pulled out a tartan thermos and the Incubus eyed it in confusion.

“**_Oh, thisss is Holy Water._**” Another thrash from the Demon and Crowley smacked the metal again, making them gag and stop. “**_I’ll leave it here for you. In case it all becomes too much. A sssuicide pill, if you will. Until then…I am going to tear you apart. Piece by fucking piece. Maybe I’ll ssstart with that cock of yours._**”

* * *

Aziraphale was asleep again. Anathema had wrapped him up in a blanket and put him next to the fireplace, just like Crowley had suggested. The Angel had smiled and curled up next to the flames stating he was going to take a quick nap. Anathema brought him a pillow and he settled down for a while. When night began to fall, she nudged him gently awake and helped him up the stairs and into his bed. He protested a little, but ultimately allowed himself to be tucked in like a child. Anathema stroked his hair until he drifted off again. Very quietly, she closed his bedroom door and took up space in his upstairs sitting room where she spent the night on the sofa in there.

* * *

The Incubus screamed through their metal tube, black blood pouring from a fresh wound on their back. Crowley stood over them, eyes cold and distant. He flicked the knife out, flinging the blood and skin from it. The shadowed Demon shook, and if they had the ability to cry, they would have been sobbing by now. Crowley kneeled down in front of them and grabbed the end of the tube. He pulled it upwards, manoeuvring the Incubus’ head to look towards him. He could see in his eyes that he had all but broken the Demon.

“**_What else ssshould I do with you, eh?_**” Crowley grinned manically. “**_I’ve cut you and beat you. Sssliced your skin off. Broken your teeth and fingersss. What else did you do to my Angel? Hm? Oh! I know!_**” Crowley pushed the Incubus down, pressing the tip of the knife to their neck. They shook as the blade travelled down, leaving behind a thin cut all the way to their hip. They frantically shook their head, grunting and moaning to try and communicate. But to no avail. Crowley grabbed hold of the shadowed cock tightly and stretched it out, placing the blade at the base. The Incubus’ screams reached a fevered pitch and he attempted to thrash again. Crowley raised a brow at this, and they stopped immediately. “**_You fucked him. Did he beg you to ssstop?_**”

“Uhhunnn.” The Incubus nodded.

“**_And did you?_**”

“Nnnuhnn.” They shook their head.

“**_Then why should I?_**” Crowley pressed the blade harder against the base of the member. He pulled the blade away quickly with a sick sound of slick blood spattering. He tossed the severed demonic prick over his shoulder and it squelched against the far wall, tumbling to the stone floor. The Incubus’ breath caught in their throat as a silent screaming agony overtook them. They lurched forward and grabbed the tartan thermos. Crowley scrambled away.

* * *

Anathema woke to the sun shining in through the curtains. It wasn’t raining anymore, and she smiled at that. She laid there on the sofa staring up at the ceiling for a long while until she finally yawned and sat up, making for the kitchen. She thought she could make some breakfast for Aziraphale. He’d be sure to enjoy that while they waited for Crowley’s return. He should be back soon, she hoped anyways. She had a child at home to get back to and a husband who was probably worried and, more than likely, overwhelmed by being home alone with a toddler.

Aziraphale had other plans though. He wanted to keep sleeping. He wanted to do what Crowley had done and just sleep away an entire century. Yes, that would be quite lovely indeed. To just lay there and block out the entire world around him until he felt like facing it all again. Because right now, he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand to be awake for longer than a few hours at a time. He couldn’t stand constantly thinking about the things that had happened to him. He couldn’t stand to think about why God had never answered any of his prayers. He wanted to drink himself silly and then sleep. But, apparently, his _body_ had other plans too. He groaned awake and slid out of bed, stomach rumbling at the smell of sausages cooking in the kitchen.

“I made us some breakfast.” Anathema greeted him from her place at the stove, smiling and handing him a cup of cocoa. He hesitated in taking it. “It has marshmallows.”

“…Thank you, dear.” He took the winged mug and sat at the table. He drummed his fingers a bit before speaking again. “Uhm…have you heard from Crowley?”

“Mm. Not yet.” She shook her head and joined him at the table, two plates of a full English set in front of them. Aziraphale sighed at this and poked idly at his eggs. The door of the shop downstairs was suddenly flung open, breaking some of the glass in the process. Anathema and Aziraphale both shot up from their seats and made for the stairs.


	13. Chapter 13

From the top of the stairs Anathema and Aziraphale peered down into the shop. The door was wide open, and someone was standing in the entrance, almost completely shadowed. They groaned and stumbled in, collapsing in a pile of black and red scales, red hair wild and sticking up in all manner of directions around a pair of curled horns. Aziraphale exclaimed something unintelligible and ran the rest of the way down the steps, skidding to his knees next to the Demon. Anathema yelled and followed after him, attempting to grab his arm and pull him away.

“Aziraphale! It’s too dangerous!”

“It’s Crowley!” He turned worried eyes up at her and she did a double take of the crumpled Demon. Frowning, she closed the shop door, made sure the runes were still intact, and joined them on the floor. “Crowley, dearest…please, answer me.”

“**_Ugh…’Zira…_**” The Demon finally looked up and met his golden eyes to a pair of wet green-hazel. “**_Hurt._**”

“Where? Where are you hurt?” Frantically, the Angel ran hands all over the scales trying his damnedest to find any wounds. Crowley shifted, the scales and horns slowly disappeared, and he let out a very long breath. It was then that Az and Anathema finally got a good look at him. He was covered in viscous black blood and sinew and a part of his face and neck was blistered and melted, almost to the bone. “Crowley! Oh…oh, good Lord! W-what on _Earth_ happened to you?!”

“Ah…” The red-head tried his best to give a smirk, but he hissed in pain, holding a hand to his marred features. “I took your Holy Water. Worth it.”

“You…you stupid, _stupid_ snake!” Aziraphale held back a smack and sobbed instead, letting his tears fall freely. “That…you…I don’t…you _idiot_!”

“You should see the other guy.” Crowley let a pained chuckle out and groaned into a sitting position, wiping Aziraphale’s tears away. “I’m alright. I promise. I’m here. And everything is over. It’s over, Zira. I swear it. They won’t ever bother us again.”

“Don’t you _ever_ leave me like that again!” Az sobbed into Crowley’s shirt.

“I won’t. Not ever.”

“Promise me!”

“I promise. I swear it. I swear on my plants. On _all_ the good wine. On _all_ the stars and nebulae that I created. On the whole _blasted_ Universe. I swear it with every single fibre of my being, I will _never_ leave you ever again. Not in all of time.” He held Azira’s face in his hands and kissed him over and over again. His lips, his cheeks, his forehead, his eyes. He kissed the tears away. He kissed him until Aziraphale laughed and pushed him away.

“Good Lord, look at you…” The blond hovered a hand over the burns. A warm golden light seeped from his hand and covered the wounds. When it faded, the Holy Water damage was gone and Crowley smiled, pain free.

* * *

When the Incubus lurched forward and grasped the thermos of Holy Water, Crowley had a moment of panic. Time seemed to slow down for him as he watched.

The shadowed fiend twisted the cap.—_Crowley saw Aziraphale. His eyes wide and bright and hopeful._

The cap was removed.—_He saw Aziraphale’s smile, shining and banishing the darkness; the sunshine in the rain clouds._

The thermos was tipped back into the metal tube.—_Aziraphale was drinking cocoa, smiling at him from over the steam._

The Incubus choked and sputtered.—_He was on the on the sofa, resting in Aziraphale’s arms while he read._

The Holy Water shot from the tube, straight at his face.—_He was on the Garden wall again, being shielded by a bright white wing from the world’s first ever rain._

He watched the Incubus melt from the inside out, ignoring the pain on his own face.—_Because he wasn’t there right now in that cell, he was with Aziraphale having dinner at The Ritz. Clinking their glasses together and toasting to the world. But really, they were toasting to themselves. To all the things they had gone through together. To their friendship. To their love._

Until he wasn’t there anymore. Reality came back to him and he screamed at the Holy Water eating away at his flesh. Time returned to normal and he howled and rolled around on the rough stone floor, effectively covering himself in the blood and liquid remains of the Incubus. When the agony eventually resided to a dull burning, he let out an otherworldly snarl. His wings shot out from his body and catapulted him from the cell and straight up through the ground, out of Hell.

He burst through the ground topside somewhere in someone’s back garden. He didn’t stop there. Instead, Crowley soared high into the sky until he felt ice on his skin. And he passed out, hurtling back towards the Earth. When he woke next, he was on the sidewalk outside Aziraphale’s bookshop, not remembering how he ended up there. He didn’t question it. Instead, he slammed the door open, a bit harder than he originally intended, but he didn’t care, really. He’d fix the windows later.

* * *

Anathema cleared her throat and stood, dusting her skirt off. Aziraphale and Crowley, finally remembering that she was there and that they probably shouldn’t be all over each other in front of her, both flushed and stood as well, the blond helping the red-head to stand. Az wrapped an arm around Crowley’s middle, supporting quite a bit of his weight on his shoulders.

“Witch—“

“Anathema, dear.”

“Yes, right. Anathema.” Crowley sighed at the correction but gave a little smile anyways. “Thank you for watching after him while I was gone. I uh…I owe you, I guess.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” She raised her brows up at him and, after giving Az a little hug, went for the door. “I’m gonna go home now. This has gotten a bit too weird for me. And I’m sure Newt would like some time away from the baby.”

“Oh, yes. Quite.” Aziraphale smiled, giving her a wave as she left, closing the door as gently as she could. The pair stood for a while in silence until Az turned and buried his face in Crowley’s chest. The Demon tightened his hold, pressing his own face into white-blond curls. Aziraphale heard him sniffle. “…Crowley?”

“…I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Whatever for, darling?”

“I didn’t…I didn’t know. About…about the…the…” The red-head swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to say it. Not out loud. The next words came out in a choked whisper. “The…Incubus…”

“Oh…” Aziraphale froze again, still as a statue against Crowley’s chest. He felt a wave of sickness roll over him and he fought back the urge to vomit again. He gulped audibly as he began to tremble.

“I’m so, so sorry…I shouldn’t have…I mean, on the sofa…I shouldn’t have pressured you. I should’ve known. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”

“_That’s_ what you’re sorry about?” The Angel allowed himself to chuckle, pushing his shadowed predator to the side of his mind for a moment. “Crowley, my dear. I _wanted_ that. What you and I did is…is absolutely _nothing_ like what that creature did. It was…I could _feel_ the love from you, dearest. And I _needed_ that. I needed that so _very_ badly.”

“You’re not…upset about it?”

“No. I could never be upset with you, dearest.”

“Well, that’s just not true.”

“Oh, well, you _annoy_ me sometimes, yes. But I could never be mad at you for something like that.” Aziraphale pushed back and smiled up at his Demon’s blood and tear streaked face. He thought about kissing him but pulled away with a frown. “How about we get you washed up? You’re a bit…_disgusting_ at the moment.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Crowley turned his gaze down, taking in his appearance. “I could probably do with a good wash…”

“Then it’s a good thing I have a lovely bathtub upstairs.” Aziraphale gave a coy smile over his shoulder at the somewhat stunned Demon before traversing the steps up to the flat, the red-head shortly behind.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last 2 chapters are fluffy. <3  
Because I think we all need a little fluff after everything that's happened.

Aziraphale’s bathtub was a large porcelain clawfoot tub from sometime in the 1890’s. The Angel had acquired it directly from Trenton Potteries—because, of course, he had been friends with the owner—and had kept it in tiptop condition for well over 130-some-odd years. It, surprisingly, did get _some_ use as Aziraphale liked taking the occasional soak. He liked the comforts of humanity. Eating, drinking, bathing. All the relaxing things that made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

The Angel took Crowley by the hand and led him into the pristine bathroom. He drew the water and bubbles and, without a word from either party, began to slowly remove the Demon’s clothing, tossing it into a pile near the sink. Azira trailed his fingertips along Crowley’s collarbone before the Demon caught his wrist.

“Will you be joining me?”

“Well, I usually never say no to a good bath, but this time…” He looked the red-head up and down and frowned at all the blood. “I will have to take a rain check. For now, let me clean you, yes?”

“Ah. Don’t blame you.” With a shrug, Crowley slid into the tub, disappearing under the bubbles for a moment before re-emerging with his hair plastered to his forehead. Aziraphale chuckled, rolled up his sleeves, and pushed the hair away. “You’re _seriously_ going to wash me?”

“Yes. I believe I owe you. You _did_ go to Hell for me, after all. Twice.”

“You don’t _owe_ me anything.” The Demon pouted out his lower lip, but allowed shampoo to be rubbed into his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp. “I didn’t do it so you could _owe_ me.”

“I know. But still…just let me, please?” Crowley nodded and let out a contented hum. “Other than the Holy Water on your face…I’m assuming everything went alright with Lucifer?”

“Oh, yeah.” Yellow eyes closed and his head tilted back as Aziraphale gently scrubbed his neck with a luffa. “Was actually kind of uh…_nice_…to see him again. We _were_ friends once upon a time. He’s doing well, I suppose. Said him and Her were in agreement about us being left alone. Discorporated the traitors and sent them to the sulphur pits. Let me have at the Incubus. All good fun.”

“He _what_?” The blond’s brows shot up a little and he stopped scrubbing for a moment. “He let you…_what_?”

“I asked him if I could take care of the Demon that left all those bite marks on you and he allowed it. I took care of them. It was…cathartic.”

“You…you took care of the…” Aziraphale’s face dropped and his grip on the sponge loosened until it was released into the water.

“Yes.” Crowley took hold of the hand that had been washing him and kissed the palm. “You don’t have to worry about them again. _Ever_.”

“The Holy Water…” The Demon nodded and scooted up, leaning over the edge of the tub to cradle Aziraphale’s face. He swiped the tears away.

“Like I said. It was worth it.”

“You…killed them…with the Holy Water?” The Angel’s voice broke and his face twisted as his tears came in thick, hot rivers.

“Yeah.” Crowley nodded, not disclosing the fact that he had tortured the Incubus first and that the shadowed Demon had chosen to take his own life rather than continue suffering. Aziraphale didn’t need to know that right now. He didn’t need to know what Crowley had been capable of. Of how much rage he was able to hold. Instead, he quickly scrubbed the rest of himself off and got out of the now stained tub; he would clean it later. With a snap, he was dry, a towel wrapped around his waist. Maybe a waste of a miracle, but worth it to hold his Angel in his arms. “I told you. Worth it. _Always_ worth it. I’ve got you. I’m here. It’s alr—” He never finished the words. Aziraphale’s mouth on his stopped him.

“I love you.” The Angel muttered into his lips as his hands searched for something to grip. He found no such purchase on Crowley’s naked body and instead, backed the Demon against the bathroom wall to continue his assault on his mouth and neck.

“Woah, h-hey.” Reluctantly, the Demon pushed him an arm’s length away. “I don’t…Zira are you…I don’t know if this is…I mean, I love you too but…”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re…sure?”

“Yes.” Az nodded, taking a step back and calming down, twisting his signet ring ‘round and ‘round. “I have the utmost trust in you, Crowley.”

“I just don’t want to…” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to go too fast or-or…I don’t know, if you’re not ready or…you’re sure _you’re sure_?”

“I am sure _I am sure_.” Aziraphale laughed and took a step forward. Once he was within grabbing distance, Crowley pulled him back against his chest, pressing their lips together passionately.

Without a word, they walked hand in hand to the bedroom where Crowley slowly began to undress the Angel before him, never breaking eye contact. The bowtie slipped away and landed on the floor and all the many, many buttons were meticulously popped open. Shirts were shrugged off, a belt discarded sending trousers to pool around his ankles and miraculously bare feet. Once free from the confines of his own clothing, he reached a hand out and undid Crowley’s towel. It joined his trousers on the floor, and they fell back onto the bed together.

Skin to skin contact felt different than what either of them had ever imagined. Aziraphale always thought that Crowley, being cold-blooded, would be too cold to touch and that it would be slightly uncomfortable. But it was quite the opposite. He _was_ cold, of course, but it was in such stark difference from his natural body’s temperature it only added to the heightened sense of pleasure he was currently feeling. And Crowley always thought that if he were to touch a blessed being of pure love and light that he would surely burn and promptly be discorporated. But for him, it was _also_ quite the opposite. Aziraphale was warm and soft and just so very _good_. The very touch of his fingers to the blond’s skin sent sparks through his whole being.

Crowley’s cool lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down the column of Azira’s neck and to his clavicle. The blond writhed beneath his touch and Crowley revelled in it, his fingertips pressing into the soft curve of his hips. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the Demon’s shoulders, holding him as close as he could without constricting. When the red-head let his fingers wander close to the blond’s entrance, he froze. And Crowley waited, halting his kisses in favour of meeting his Angel’s eyes.

“We…we don’t have to.”

“No, I…I _want_ to. I do. I want _you_.”

“I’ll be gentle. Extremely so. And…if you want to stop, just say so. Alright? And I will. Immediately.” When Az nodded, the Demon pressed a slick finger into him, slowly probing before tentatively adding a second. Aziraphale tensed a little before relaxing into the fingers, moaning lightly when they began to move and scissor in preparation. Crowley curled the two digits, finding the bundle of nerves and pressed it. Aziraphale’s breath hitched and his back involuntarily arched.

“C-Crowley!” The Angel’s perfectly manicured nails dug into the Demon’s shoulder blades. “P-please…more….”

“Gladly, my Angel.” He added a third finger, repeating the motions of curling them and pressing. He pulled them away a moment later, replacing them with the tip of his very hard and leaking cock. Aziraphale let out a low whine and attempted to push himself into the Demon. “Shh, soon, love. Patience.”

“Oh, Crowley, dear…” Az panted and allowed himself to be kissed gently. When Crowley’s tongue began to explore his mouth, he melted. Slowly, very slowly and gently, the red-head pressed himself—excessively lubricated—into the Angel, little bits at a time, until sheathed completely. He stayed that way, holding the blond close and placing soft, tender kisses all over his cheeks and temples and neck. Only when he felt the Angel relax around him did he start moving, setting a leisurely pace at first. Still holding Aziraphale closely, his breath came faster against the blond’s neck. And when Az hooked his ankles together around Crowley’s back, he sped up, but only just, keeping it still rather slow and affectionate.

“Ah…Ah-Ahhhzira…” Black painted nails dug into the soft white flesh of the Angel’s thighs. He lifted the Angel up a bit, angling himself just right to hit the same little bundle of nerves that his fingers had found. Aziraphale cried out in pleasure, back arching again. Crowley thrusted a few times into it before the Angel’s pure, snow white wings manifested violently underneath them, feathers flying out and fluttering to the floor and bed around them. “Uhn…_fuck_…beautiful…”

“Ah, ah…oh, Crowley! C-Crowley…my love…oh, my dear…yes…yes!” Aziraphale, much to Crowley’s surprise, sank his teeth into the tender flesh of the Demon’s neck, making his own shining black wings to burst out as well, casting a dark shadow over them. His own demonic appendages spread out wide, dark feathers pressing into white as he pumped into the Angel below him. Crowley reached a hand in between them, grasping his Angel’s cock. He stroked it in time with his movements.

“Come for me, love.” The Demon managed to speak the words between gasps of breath. “C-come for me…”

“O-oh, Crowley! Ah-ah-ahhh!!” Aziraphale let go, climaxing into the Demon’s hand with a near violent shudder of his whole body. A few thrusts more and Crowley was close behind, finishing inside his Angel. They stayed that way for a long while, catching their breath and allowing the sweat to cool against their flushed skin. Crowley finally pulled himself out and shifted to lie down next to the blond instead, nuzzling his nose into the crook of his neck. “I…I…oh, my…uhm…oh! Our…our wings are uhm…”

“Tangled, it seems.” Crowley cracked an eye open to stare up at the plumage. White and black feathers interwoven and messy. He ran his long fingers through them, gently pulling them apart so that they could put them away. “Should probably be more careful next time…”

“Next time?”

“Ah…uhm…” Crowley panicked a little and turned onto his side to get a better look at the Angel. “If…if you’ll have me, that is.”

“Crowley, dearest. I will _always_ have you.” Aziraphale smiled brightly before looking away, his expression saddening a bit. “I just…it may take me some time to uhm…”

“I can wait. For as long as you need. I mean…I’ve _already_ waited. What’s another six thousand years? You’re stuck with me now.” Crowley gave a little shrug and curled up against Aziraphale’s side.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The Angel wrapped his arm around the Demon, snuggling close and taking in the scent of cinnamon and hearth.


	15. Chapter 15

The next few weeks were rather uneventful. They went about their daily, slightly mundane, lives. Crowley, for one, was happy to have the boredom. It was much better than having all that excitement of Hell trying to kill them. It was all rather dull, and that was wonderful. Until one day, Aziraphale finally felt comfortable enough to re-open his shop for a while.

A ‘customer’ asked if he had a pair of scissors she could borrow as she had snagged her skirt on a nail and wanted to snip the offending string that had unravelled. He obliged with a smile and handed her the old shears he kept in the drawer. But when she had opened them and he heard that sound and saw the sharp edges, he promptly shut down.

She asked him if he was alright, but he couldn’t answer her. He had backed up against the wall and slid down to the floor, tears streaking his face as he sobbed. Crowley had ushered everyone out and promptly gathered up every single pair of scissors he could find in the bookshop and upstairs flat, shoved them in a box, and incinerated them with his Hellfire out in the back alleyway. He gathered his Angel up and held him close until his weeping subsided, and he was apologising.

“I’ve told you, you don’t need to apologise, Zira.” Az opened his mouth to this, about to do it again, but Crowley pressed a hand over his lips. “Don’t. No need. You’ve done nothing to apologise for. I took all the shears away.”

“You what?”

“I took them all away. Don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

“…_All_ of them?”

“Yes. I burned them all out back.”

“C-Crowley!” Aziraphale furrowed his brows at this and sat up again. “What if I need to cut something?”

“Then _I_ will cut it for you. Or you can _miracle_ it cut. Or _I_ can miracle it cut.” The red-head made a few nonsensical hand gestures and helped his Angel stand back up.

“Not the _point_, dearest.” Az sighed a little and ran a hand down his face to clear the rest of the sweat from it. “You can’t just get rid of all the things that make me have a...uh…an _episode_.”

“Why not?”

“Well, then we would have no cutlery in the kitchen. What would we eat dinner with then, hm?”

“Plasticware.”

“We will do _no_ such thing! I am not a _savage_!” Azira gasped, offended. “I have _standards_, you know.”

“Yes. I know.” Crowley smirked, happy that his distraction had worked. He’d have to thank Anathema later for the pointers. “Very high ones at that.”

“It is not my fault I hold everything so highly. I only wish it to be the best that it can be.” Aziraphale had wandered into the backroom, Crowley trailing behind with hands in pockets. He took out a bottle from the liquor cabinet and drank straight from it. The Demon raised a brow at this but shrugged it off when the bottle was passed to him.

“I guess I get it. Sort of.” Crowley shrugged. “I’m just not like that at all. Yeah, I want things to be the best they can be too, but sometimes that’s an unrealistic expectation.”

“You’re just a pessimist.”

“Ehhn.” He shrugged again, making a series of noncommittal sounds, and passed the bottle back. He flopped down on the sofa and the thing creaked beneath him.

“You seriously need to stop doing that. It’s going to break.” Az pushed Crowley’s legs gently aside and sat next to him on the sofa. The serpent immediately curled up against his side, closing his eyes as Aziraphale’s hand ran through his hair.

“Good. Then we can get a new one.” Crowley grumbled, nuzzling further into Az’s love handles. “…I could bring over the one from my flat in Mayfair.”

“That wretched thing is too stiff. We can just go buy a new one if you ever break this one with your _incessant_ flopping about.” The Demon just grunted at this and they were both silent for a long while, just enjoying each other’s company. A small sigh from Aziraphale made Crowley peer up at him, question in his eyes. “…It’s nothing. Don’t fret.”

“It most certainly is _not_ ‘nothing’.” The red-head shimmied up to be face-to-face with the Angel. “What’s on your mind?”

“Its just…I was just thinking.”

“’Bout?”

“Well…when I was uh…_down there_…I prayed. I prayed to Her and She didn’t answer. I don’t…I don’t think she was listening to me. And I just thought—”

“Don’t.” Crowley was suddenly ramrod straight, yellow eyes wide and full of worry. “Don’t do that. Don’t start doubting her. You’ll _Fall_.”

“One can’t help but have a few creeping doubts under the given circumstances…” The blond twirled his signet ring around, sniffling to push the coming tears back. “…I prayed, and I begged. And She did nothing.”

“She opened the gate for me.”

“She answered _you_. Not _me_. And that…I love you, I really do, but that’s just not…fair.”

“Listen to me, Aziraphale.” Crowley held the Angel’s face between his hands, staring straight into green-hazel eyes. “You were in Hell. She _really_ couldn’t hear you there. She wasn’t ignoring you on _purpose_.”

“What?”

“How many tortured souls are inhabiting Hell? Millions, yeah?” Az nodded. “And how many of them do you think keep praying to her for forgiveness?”

“…All of them?”

“No…well, the _majority_ of them, yes.” Crowley swiped a tear away as it rolled down Azira’s cheek. “Hell learned a long time ago to put a sort of…filter around itself. All those damned souls praying to Her all at once? It would be chaos. She can’t hear any form of prayers that are spoken while in Hell.”

“…Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh…oh, _good_. That was…oh, my, I’ve been worrying about that for _weeks_!” Aziraphale let out a huff of breath in relief followed by a little chuckle. “I was actually preparing to Fall too! Oh, good Lord, I don’t think I would make a very good Demon.”

“Don’t even joke about that!” Crowley hissed and made a disgusted face. “You would make a _horrible_ Demon! Not to mention I’d have to go to Hell again to find you and drag you from the sulphur pits! You’d stink!”

“Would you still love me even if I stunk of sulphur?”

“What kind of stupid question is that?” Crowley stood quickly from the sofa and stalked the length of the room, gesticulating wildly. “Of _course_, I’d still love you, you idiot! I don’t love you for your _smell_! For Go— Sata— _Someone’s_ sake, we’re _practically_ married! You’re stuck with me for eternity! Deal with it!”

“…Married?” Az’s cheeks turned pink and he fought back a smile.

“D-did I say that? I-I meant…I meant uhh…” The Demon waved a hand and his sunglasses appeared over his eyes, his hand covered the rest of his face as a flush crept up his neck and overtook his features. “Ssshut it, Angel. Not a word.”

“Oh, but, _darling_…” Az chuckled again and stood from the sofa, slowly approaching the serpent. He reached up and gently pulled Crowley’s hands away and removed his glasses again. “My dearest Crowley. You really are rather sweet.”

“Ssshut up.” His lower lip pouted out a bit and he looked away.

“I _mean_ it. You really, really are. So very sweet to me. And I love it because only _I_ get to see this side of you. It’s all mine. Only I get to see how tender, sweet, and wonderful a being you are. I really am the luckiest of Her creations to have ended up with you. And I know it’s quite a human construct but…I would just _absolutely_ love it if you were to marry me.”

“…Angel. Are you proposing to me?” One of Crowley’s eyebrows rose up high and he smirked despite the redness of his face.

“Perhaps I am.” Aziraphale removed the golden signet ring from his little finger and stared at it pointedly until it changed its size. He held it out. “It would be an honour and privilege to spend the rest of my days as your Husband. Would you marry me, dearest?”

“Now _that_…” He began, holding his hand up towards the ring. “That is, without a doubt, _the_ stupidest question you have ever asked me. In what universe would the answer to that ever be ‘no’?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Cheeky bastard.”

“Just to you, dear.”

“Yes, Aziraphale, I will marry you.” He placed his right hand out and Aziraphale pushed it away. “What?”

“Other hand, darling.”

“Oh. How’m I supposed to know weird human customs?” He held the left out instead and allowed the golden ring to be slipped onto his third finger. Smiling, he stared at it for a moment before closing his hand in a fist. He focused his energy into his palm and a bit of smoke curled out from between his fingers. Aziraphale watched in curiosity. When his fingers unfolded, he blew the soot away to show a dark circle of metal. A snake curled in on itself to form a ring. He held it out, placing it on Aziraphale’s hand in return. “There. Made it myself.”

“Oh, its perfect.” The blond wrapped his arms about the red-heads neck, pulling him down into a kiss. “Let’s go out to celebrate. How about the Ritz?”

“How about…” A devilish grin took over Crowley’s face as he tightened his arm around Aziraphale’s waist. “We could celebrate right here. In the bookshop. On the sofa. Or in your chair. Or maybe on top of your desk.”

“C-Crowley!” Aziraphale, despite himself, glanced over his shoulder at the three locations. “Not on my desk! I’ve important manuscripts there.”

“Your chair then?”

“I eat there!”

“The sofa?”

“…Well…”

“Oh, that wasn’t a no.” The grin grew and Crowley snapped his fingers. They were naked and he had begun backing them up towards the ancient sofa. Gently, he pushed Aziraphale to sit down with little to no protest from the blond.

“Oh, dear. Crowley!” The Demon straddled the Angel’s lap, running his cool fingers over the soft and supple curves of his body.

“Would you be taking my last name, Mr. A.Z. Fell?”

“That would be rather silly, Mr. Anthony J. Crowley. Then we’d both be called Crow—ahhh.” Azira gasped as Crowley lowered himself onto his cock.

“Hnnn. Yeah. Didn’t…think about…that.” With Aziraphale sheathed inside him completely, Crowley leaned forward, burying his face in the blond’s neck, suckling at the skin there. He pulled his hips up, pulling Azira nearly all the way out, before pushing back down roughly, eliciting a gasp from both parties. “Guess…we’ll both just…keep our names.”

“Y-yes.” Az nodded, not really paying much attention to the conversation. Instead, he focused his attention on the lithe body that was currently moving atop his own pudgy frame. He grasped at the gaunt hips there, gripping them tightly and pushing them down as he rocked his own hips upwards to meet the Demon’s pace. Crowley tossed his head back with a groan and sped up with the same motion of pulling up almost all the way and slamming down as his own hard member slapped against Aziraphale’s stomach.

“Ahhn…_fuck_…Zira…” The red-head inhaled sharply when Aziraphale wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking it in time with their movements, which were now rather frantic. The sofa beneath them creaked and groaned, but they paid no heed to it. Crowley suddenly screamed, coming onto Aziraphale’s stomach and chest in hot ribbons. The sight of it sent the Angel over and he thrusted a few more times, finishing deep inside his Demon. And that was when the sofa gave way.

“Oh, no!” With a load crash, the ancient piece of furniture collapsed in on itself leaving the couple in a heap among broken wooden boards, fabric, and fluff. “I _told_ you the sofa would break!”

“Wasn’t _entirely_ my fault!” Crowley laughed, picking a bit of the fluff from Azira’s curls. “Excuse to get a new one.”

“I can’t help but think you planned this somehow.” Azira joined him in laughing before waving a hand to clean them both up.

“_Me_?” He placed a hand to his chest in mock offence. “Plan something nefarious? _Never_.”

“You snake.” The blond smirked and took Crowley’s offered hand. He was pulled back to standing and they both stared down at the pile of rubbish that was once a vintage 1800’s chaise lounge.

“You could always just miracle a new one here.”

“No. Best to fix this one up.” Azira nodded resolutely, turning to look at the Demon next to him. “A fresh start, as it were. Everyone deserves one. Even a sofa.”

“A fresh start. Yeah.” Smiling a bit, he placed a tender kiss to the blond’s temple. “Maybe…with this fresh start, the sofa will be a bit sturdier? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, eh?”

“Yes. I do believe you are correct.” Aziraphale smiled broadly and snapped his fingers. The chaise lounge rebuilt itself before them, with extra brass rivets in the legs and body. “Should hold up quite nicely now. What do you think?”

“I think…” Crowley’s grin widened, and he kissed Aziraphale’s cheek again. “It’s the strongest sofa I’ve ever seen. I’ll take good care of it from now on. I promise.”

“Thank you, my darling.” The blond leaned into the red-head’s lean body, nuzzling into his neck. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Crowley held his Angel close, revelling in the feel of his body. The soft curves and warmth there. His downy white-blond curls and his scent of parchment and sweets. The wonderful golden light that seemed to encompass them whenever Aziraphale was happy. The same light that seeped into his very being from the love he felt. It was as close to Her love as he was ever going to get again, but it was different. It was a lot more welcoming than he remembered Her’s being. A lot warmer. And not at all piously righteous. It felt like…home. He was home. They both were. And they were never going to leave it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to get into a weird head-space to write this whole thing and I really hope it was enjoyable. My being riddled with anxiety certainly helped to try and convey certain things. I hope it came out the way I intended it to.
> 
> Thank you to anyone who read this, left kudos, commented, subscribed, bookmarked or what have you. I love y'all! <3


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